Black Flagged
by THIRTEENpointONE
Summary: Rumbelle AU: When a rogue CIA operative resurfaces, Belle French is assigned to find him and take him out by any means necessary. However, her assignment soon proves easier said than done after she comes face-to-face with the infamous Agent Gold.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All of the characters belong to ABC and OUAT's creators. I'm just having some fun with them.

**AN: So I got this random idea the other day of a spy AU where Gold and Belle go at it Mr. & Mrs. Smith style and just couldn't resist having a go at it. Pretty much just a fun summer story. Hope you all enjoy!**

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Belle French was not having a good morning. Quite frankly, she was having a fucking, miserable morning. Her head felt as if it was pounding out of her skull, she was wearing a wrinkled, two-day old suit, that had stains on it from origins she'd rather not contemplate, and to top it off, her damn hotel coffee machine had decided to not work on today of all days.

Also, the fact that she had been asleep for only two hours before her phone rang shrilly, summoning her immediately in to the office, wasn't helping matters much either. Not to mention the jet lag she was experiencing after her 18-hour flight yesterday. Yes, she was having just a _spectacular_ start to her day.

_Seriously, how is there not _one_ decent coffee shop open in this city?_ she thought, looking out the window in disgust, and letting out another loud groan as she passed yet another darkened Starbucks.

Granted it was 4 a.m., but _still_. All she knew was that Hopper better have already gotten the coffee pot started, or else she was going to be utterly worthless all day. The measly Diet Coke she was chugging was not going to cut it.

The darkened streets of D.C. were nearly empty as she drove along. It seemed as if the entire city was still sleeping, because unlike Belle, they didn't have sadistic bosses that called them into the office at this ungodly hour to discuss god knows what.

She was supposed to be like them right now—still sleeping in her ridiculously comfortable pillow-top bed, catching up on lost sleep—not getting dragged into another case in the middle of the night. Or was it morning now?

_This better not be some FUBAR operation debriefing_, she thought. She didn't have the energy to play the blame game this early in the morning.

Belle drummed her fingers along the steering wheel and tried to stifle another yawn, as she waited for yet another red light, checking all of her mirrors twice in habit. _Clear._ The lights didn't seem to notice that no one else was on the road, so she waited. And waited. And waited.

She had always prided herself on her resilience and stamina. Normally, she could last on a few hours sleep for weeks at a time, but this last job had drained her, leaving her both mentally and physically exhausted. So thus, all she wanted to do right now was call in the 23rd Airborne and take out her frustration on the stoplight in front of her with an air strike.

The light seemed to sense her threat and clicked over to green.

Belle floored her government-issued Crown Victoria…directly into another red light. _Goddammit! _She slammed her palms against the steering wheel.

Thankfully, her hotel room was only a short drive to the Langley, or else D.C. was going to have a helluva morning news report when they woke up. The strike codes were still temptingly fresh in her mind. _God, I need sleep. I'm losing it_, she thought, rubbing her face.

Twenty minutes later, Belle arrived finally on the Langley campus, its large glass building glowing like a beacon in the foggy mist. The drive had given the caffeine enough time to start to kick in, and she felt her brain starting to finally wake up enough to start and piece together why she had been called in so early. A FUBAR—fucked up beyond recognition—mission debriefing was most likely, but why it was necessary for her to come in so early, or at all, confused her.

It couldn't be her mission that they were discussing. She knew that. Belle had personally ensured the success of that one, pulling the trigger literally on the target.

It must be something that had happened while I was away, she thought. Belle loved nothing more than to be working in the field, but the subsequent intelligence gap when she returned, especially in situations such as these, was both disorienting and unnerving. And if there was one thing Belle French hated, it was not having all the information. Being thrown into a case after a two-month gap, on two hours of sleep, was pretty much her definition of hell.

Belle drove around to the rear of the "old" CIA building, and parked near the entrance in a reserved, marked stall, daring someone to tow her.

Once in park, she checked her surroundings once again. Her reflection in the rear mirrors was rather frightening, so she dabbed some _Clear Eyes_ into her bloodshot eyes to try and look halfway presentable. She also double-checked that she had her identification—her real identification, not one of the dozen fake shoes she kept with her—and exited the vehicle, stepping into the cool night air.

The black-and-white marbled entry to the CIA building was unsurprisingly empty, except for one very familiar agent, sitting on a bench opposite the security entrance.

"Took you long enough," Agent Emma Swan quipped, walking over to greet Belle. "Where have you been?"

Belle glared back at her friend and teammate. She was in no mood for playing games at this hour.

Emma grimaced, holding her hands up in surrender as they walked down the corridor. "Geez…I'm kidding. You're the first one in. Nice to see you too, by the way."

Belle slid her card through an unmarked door. "I'm sorry," she groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her free hand. "I need caffeine."

"You don't say," Emma replied dryly. "You look like hell by the way. When did you get in? "

"Uh, thanks." She glanced down at her watch. Math became suddenly impossible. "Uh...two, three hours ago?" she said, sliding her card through the slot in annoyance again.

"Seriously? Shit, I'm sorry. Here—have mine," she said, handing her steaming cup of coffee over to Belle, as she held the door open for them to pass.

The coffee burned as it went down her throat, but it tasted oh, so good. Belle closed her eyes in pleasure. "Thank you."

"Of course." Her friend smiled. "So, how are you, besides having no sleep? I heard that your mission went well."

Flashes of dust, dirt, and bodies passed quickly through Belle's mind. "Yeah, it went well. No witnesses or complications—we were in-and-out once we were able to get access into the compound."

"Did the prince come back with you?"

Belle chuckled at Emma's nickname for their teammate, and took another swig of the coffee. "No, we split up after. I think Charming is coming in tomorrow. He might even be back already. I don't know." She slid her card through another unmarked door, and punched in a security code. The door clicked open and Belle stood aside, holding the door for her friend. "All I know, is that I've never been so glad to be back in air-conditioning."

Emma saluted her. "I hear ya. 118 in Islamabad last week. I came home and sat in front of my fridge for an hour."

Belle laughed. If she'd had more time last night, she would have probably done the same.

"Well, I'm glad you're back."

"Me too," Belle said, stopping at another security station. A small, indistinct plaque labeled the door to their section's headquarters: Special Operations Command (SOC), Division of Special Activities Division. Unlike the other doors they had passed, this one was manned by a heavily armed guard, which always amused Belle, considering that everyone beyond the door were among the most deadly people in the world. She always thought that would be far more effective to simply leave the door open and see how far an intruder would get.

"How ya doin', Leroy?" Emma greeted, producing her security tags.

Their longtime guard smiled at them. "Very well, Agent Swan. Agent French, good to see you! Glad you're home safe."

"Thanks, Leroy."

"Hey, Leroy, tell French the good news."

Belle looked over in confusion. "What news?"

Leroy beamed proudly. "Astrid and I are engaged."

"You finally asked her? Congratulations!"

"See what happens when you leave us?" her friend teased, leaning forward for her retina scan.

Belle shook her head, completing her own scan. "Well, I'm very happy for you both. Send Astrid my best." Even though she had never personally met Leroy's fiancée, she felt as if she did, after two years of hearing Leroy's stories about her.

"Will do, Agent. Have a good day," he said, buzzing them through.

Belle stifled another yawn and took another sip of coffee as they strode out into the windowless, fluorescent corridor of the SOC division.

"So you never said—why did Mills call us in?"

Emma looked surprised. "You didn't hear?"

"I just got in–"

"Right, sorry. It's 4 a.m. for me too, remember?"

"All I know is that it better be good."

Her teammate's face lit up in excitement. "Oh, it's good, all right," she said, producing the file that had been tucked underneath her arm. "They found him."

"Swan, it's 4:30 in the morning, you're going to have to be more specific than that."

Emma shook the file in Belle's direction in excitement. "Gold. They found_ Gold_."

"Eureka."

"Smart ass."

Belle shrugged. "Couldn't resist. So who's Gold?" She knew the dossier of nearly every major terrorist and wanted man in the world by heart, but none of them were named "Gold."

"Read," Emma said, thrusting the file in Belle's chest. "You have thirty minutes. Briefing's in the conference room at five."

….

Special Operations Officer, A. U. Gold, code named the "Spinner," was a former SIS "MI6" intelligence agent, born in Edinburgh, Scotland. Later, after he was recruited by the CIA and immigrated to the United States in the late '80s, he rose to become one of the highest-ranking and decorated agents in the SAD/SOC unit.

Gold's file was full of accolades and letters of commendation from every sitting President since Reagan; he was a three-time recipient of the Distinguished Intelligence Cross, and twice recipient of the Intelligence Star.

Despite all of his awards, there were only a few after action reports of the operations he had participated in, leading Belle to only guess at how many more black operations he had influenced, or helped in, that weren't listed here. It had to be in the hundreds.

Clearly, this man was the Agency's go-to man to handle all of its most high-profile cases. Impressive would be an understatement. As she read on, Belle became more and more convinced that she was holding the most impressive career case file ever compiled by any agent in the CIA.

Not surprisingly, Gold's personal details were as brief, as his accomplishments were long. He was listed as 51 years old, but the only two photographs in his file were taken when he was much younger—one photo from his days as an SIS agent, and then a second undated photo from a field camera, in which his features were slightly obscured from the side angle.

He was rather handsome, Belle thought, with his fine features and distinguished air about him. Her eyes betrayed her, flashing down to his martial status—divorced, which strangely pleased her.

_I really need to get out more._ She shook her head, and took another sip of her coffee, continuing on to the next line. It listed that he had one child—a son named Bae Gold, aged twelve years. Sadly, a black deceased stamp was pressed next to his birth date. Even without knowing this man, Belle felt a pang of sympathy for him; he had lived a hard life.

Also listed under his personal information was his education. His college was listed as N/A, which Belle found curious until she added the years of his short military career and discovered that he must have entered the British Armed Forces as a teenager.

The file also listed that Gold was fluent in five languages, and proficient in four more. That last detail was handwritten in, which made Belle smirk, knowing that he must have done that himself. He was also an ex-champion of the International Sniper Competition, which she was immediately intrigued by, being a two-time champion of that same competition herself.

Suspiciously though, his files and cases stopped eight years ago. It was as if Gold dropped simply off the face of the earth. It didn't seem as if the Agency had ever conducted an official investigation into his whereabouts either.

_Did he just become a BOC?_ Belle wondered. He didn't seem the type to be a burn out though. The man whom this file belonged to was a legend through and through. Her other thought was that he had assumed a deep-cover, but it would've been listed in his file.

It all puzzled her. She couldn't even find a corresponding op to correlate with the date the entries stopped. It was as if Gold had truly vanished without a trace.

She was about to go over the file again to see if she had missed something, when a loud rapping on her office door interrupted her.

"I know you're enjoying your reading, but the meeting's about to start," Emma said, leaning against the doorway.

Belle looked down at her watch. It was almost five o'clock. She hadn't realized how immersed she had become in the file. It was a weakness of hers and her tiredness only made it worse.

"Here, drink this," Emma said, handing her another large cup of coffee.

Belle took a sip and she gathered up her files quickly.

"So 'Miss Photographic Memory,' read anything interesting?"

"Besides the fact that he's quite possibly the best SOC operative ever? Or the how he's been missing for the last eight years?"

"Pretty interesting stuff, huh?"

"How have I never heard of him?"

Emma shrugged. "He went off the grid a couple months before you, or I, started working here. I wouldn't know anything about him either, but Hopper's obsessed with him. 'Gold would do this, Gold would do that.' I swear he probably has a shrine to him in his apartment."

Belle laughed. Although Agent Hopper was a little odd to say the least, he was a good agent and their best profiler. He was also Emma's office-mate.

"Mills seems to have it in for him though. She's been working herself into a frenzy ever since Glass reported in a couple hours ago."

"Wait–when did you get in?"

Emma shrugged. "I didn't. I've been here all night."

Belle felt bad immediately for complaining about her lack of sleep. "Here," she said, handing her coffee back to Emma, "you need this more than me."

Her friend raised the glass in salute, and drank it greedily.

The main conference room, where their meetings were held, was at the end of the hall. The large room had a long oval table at its center, with video panels on every wall. Each place on the table also had a touch screen monitor, which connected to the walls' larger screens.

As they entered the windowless room, Belle noticed that Director Mills was seated already, along with several other members of their team. The black-haired woman was dressed impeccably as always, in one of her black designer suits with bright red lips to match. She raised her brow pointedly at Belle, looking up at the clock: 5:01.

"Agent French, welcome back," the Director greeted steely.

"Thank you, Director," Belle said, irritated by the slight, and wanting nothing more than to scream and remind her that she had _just _returned home three hours ago. Being one minute late, to a meeting that she was preparing for, shouldn't make a difference.

Belle knew that Mills, though, wouldn't care or listen to any of her excuses, no matter how valid they may be. The Director ruled her position with an iron fist. So instead, Belle borrowed Emma's coffee cup back and took a long gulp before sitting down, arranging her papers before her.

"Thank you all for coming," Mills said, standing up and straightening her suit. "Now that we're all here, we can start. But before we do, please know that this information is 'ears-only.' Some of you have been briefed on our target—Agent French, you'll have to play catch-up here—but at 0100 hours Zulu time, Agent Glass positively identified Agent Gold walking down a block in Rome."

She turned towards the paneled wall, and brought up a picture of Gold. This one must have been one of Glass'. The picture was fuzzy, but it was undeniably Gold, albeit a much older version of himself than the pictures Belle had seen in his file.

"Agent Gold," the Director continued, "has been black-flagged since he went rogue in December of 2003. That month, he killed his fellow operative, Maleficent Black, abandoned his legend, and went off the radar. Ever since then, we have had no direct contact or sightings of him. All we have are third person accounts and intelligence briefings of his dealings. We believe that he may have gone native with the KGB. Sources have reported that has been tied with their dealings with the Chinese and Saudis."

Belle glanced down at the thick file in front of her in confusion. It seemed as if Mills was talking about a completely different person. The man who's file in front of her was a hero in every regard. The man Mills was describing was a monster.

"Glass' identification is the first photo opportunity that we've had of him in eight years. I don't have to tell you how important this is. We're not likely to get a break like this again. We must act quickly before he disappears again."

"So what's the plan?" Emma asked.

"Gold is one of the best agents that this Agency ever recruited, maybe _the_ best. In order for us to have any success, we need to have a quick, precise infiltration: get in, find him, and take him out before he knows that we're on to him."

Belle looked at the photo, despite the poor resolution, it wasn't taken from that far away. Plus, _Glass_ had taken it. "Was Glass able to get a tail on him, or any sort of tracer after he took this?"

The Director's face darkened with anger. "No. He wasn't."

"So are we to assume that he'll still be there when we arrive?" Emma asked, interrupting again.

"Glass reported that Gold didn't notice him. I hope that if we go in quickly, we'll be able to locate and find him."

Emma frowned. "Rome isn't exactly small. Is he working with anyone that we can tie him to? Any contacts of his? Relatives?"

Their group's profiler gave a soft cough. "Uh…if I may, Director Mills?"

"Yes, Agent Hopper?"

"I've been profiling Agent Gold for some time now, and I believe that his confidence will put us at an advantage, especially if he didn't see Agent Glass. It's been eight years, he's not going to know that we're coming—"

"I disagree, Hopper," Belle interrupted. "This man is a highly skilled operative. I doubt that he would've missed Glass taking his photo. Are we sure that he wasn't just pinging us, to see if he was being followed?"

"But it was at a range—" Hopper protested.

She shook her head at him. "Still. As Director Mills said, he's one of the best. Do you think that eight years of being on the run is going to cause him to lower his guard, especially if he's doing what we think he is? I bet he's even more cautious now. He's not going to forget that we want to haul him back in. If he's allowing himself to be seen, it's for a reason. If we have any hope of catching him, we have to go in slow and quiet. He might stay in the city, but we're going to have to go in slow. Any sudden movements, he'll instantly pick up on it and spook," Belle said, sitting back in her chair with a huff, spent from her argument.

Emma raised her eyebrow and nodded in her direction, impressed, while Hopper looked like she kicked his puppy.

"Agent Swan," Mills said, turning towards Emma. "Do you have anything to add?"

"I'm with French on this one. I like her take—we go in slow and silent, and then take him down."

The Director nodded, and looked back down at her notes, pursing her lips. A small predatory smile flashed across her face.

The expression didn't escape Belle's attention, even if she was still two coffees from full strength.

"Well, then, Agent French," Mills said, looking up, "it seems that you have the best handle on this. Go get our man."

"What?" Belle nearly spit out her coffee. "Ma'am, I just got back—"

"And you may sleep on the plane," she replied sharply. "I will send you your legend and all the necessary information at your rendezvous point."

Belle's head ached at the thought of getting on a plane again. "If I may, Agent Hopper may be our best bet. He's the most familiar with Gold."

"I want you, French. That's final. There's a plane at Andrews, waiting for you. You're dismissed."

The agents mumbled their collective goodbyes, and stood to leave. Emma flashed Belle a sympathetic glance as she collected her belongings, pointedly leaving her coffee behind her. "You need this," she murmured behind her, leaving Belle to finish collecting her own files.

"Agent French, a word?"

Belle stopped in the doorway at the Director's voice and walked back into the room. "Yes, ma'am?"

Mills smiled, that predatory smile again, and gestured to the chair beside her. "Sit, please."

No stranger to Mills' threatening behavior, Belle took her place alongside the director's side. "Have you been debriefed on your last mission yet?"

"I was on the plane ride home."

"Good. I want you to go over it one more time with Hopper for the After Action Report before you leave."

"Ma'am, I must say again, I think that Hopper or Swan would be a better choice for this mission."

Mills tipped her head slightly. "Are you saying that you don't believe that you're up to the task?"

"No, I just believe that Hopper or Swan would—"

"Agent French," she interrupted, "last time I checked, I make the fucking decisions around here, so you're going. Understood?"

Belle bit her tongue and nodded.

"Good. Now that you're done complaining, let's get to the case, shall we?" She passed over another file to Belle. "Our latest intelligence on Gold, including Glass' observations and photographs."

The file was much thinner than the one Belle had read prior to the meeting. Flipping through, she had to stifle her chuckles at some of Glass' embellished language in his report. The man should have really become a writer instead of an ops agent.

"Agent French, Gold, is unlike anyone you've ever faced," Mills said, drawing Belle's attention upward again. "He's the very definition of a Smiley, but he'll also be one of the most reactive targets that you've ever had. He's unassuming and nonthreatening, which is why he's so good. When you think you've cornered him, check your back. I guarantee that he'll be already behind you. And don't _ever_ think that he's on your side. That bastard will double-cross and tap you out before you can blink."

_Wow, this is inspiring_. "What would you have me do, Director?"

"I want you to take him out. By any. Means. Necessary," she spat, flashing her teeth in a snarl.

"Take him out, ma'am?" she asked, needing the verbal confirmation for a wet-work mission such as this.

"Kill him, Agent French. I want you to track that bastard down and shoot him in his fucking heart," she said. "You're dismissed."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I just want to thank everyone for your great response and reviews to this story. Your reviews really make my day :) This story has been a blast to write, and I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much.**

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"My dear, I keep telling you that you need to find another job. That editor of yours is just working you too hard!"

Belle sheepishly shrugged, feigning acquiescence as she threw her small carry on bag into her car. "Really, Granny, I don't mind. The editor was so happy with my last article, I'm being sent out for another assignment. This is my dream job," she added for good measure.

She had hoped to be in-and-out quickly, simply making a brief appearance to drop off her check to her neighbor for watering her plants, but Granny Lucas seemed to be firm in not letting her leave without a fight.

"A lovely, young woman, such as yourself, shouldn't be spending her days working non-stop. When was the last time you were home for more than a week?" she asked, frowning in displeasure

Belle smiled. "I'm a travel reporter, Granny. It's my job to be gone from home. Plus, it's more like I'm on vacation anyways."

"Working!"

"In _Sydney_," she said. "And my flight leaves in three hours, so I have to leave now. I just wanted to drop off this check and give you this." She reached into her bag, producing a small, wrapped parcel.

Granny's face lit up, her argument forgotten. "Oh, Belle! You shouldn't have!"

"It's just a little something."

Belle watched as Granny delicately unwrapped the small gift, painstakingly saving the paper, until she finally unveiled a finely woven silk scarf, brightly embroidered with turquoise, aubergine, and gold thread.

Granny held it up in appreciation. "It's beautiful!"

"It's from India." Actually, it was from a remote village in Pakistan that Belle had spent the past two months. The scarf was from a local artisan whom she had befriended, staying several nights with. The purchase was for the woman's silence and cooperation, but Granny didn't have to know that.

"Well, I have to say, if you get to travel to places where they have things like _this_," she said, examining the scarf with care, and wrapping it around her neck.

"It looks good on you."

Granny smiled and then cocked her head to the side, her face growing with concern again. "You still need to rest some time, dear. Take it from an old woman like me, if you run through life, it'll be over before you know it. And you'll never have time to settle down and find a man—"

"Granny…" she warned.

Her neighbor innocently shrugged, holding up her hands. "I'm just saying, that my friend Gloria has the most handsome son. And he's _single_. His name is Gaston—he's in finance. I think. I can't remember…Anyways, I told her all about you and we agreed that you two would just hit it off!"

And,_ that_ was her cue to leave. "Uh, okay, Granny. I really need to go so I don't hit traffic and miss my flight."

"Are you sure that you don't need a ride?"

"I'm fine, Granny. Thank you for offering though. And thank you for watching over my place. Hopefully, I won't be gone so long this time."

"Six-five, and the most handsome face you've ever seen. I swear—this one is the one."

Belle couldn't help but chuckle. She'd used that same line when she'd told her about the last five suitors that she'd try to set her up with. "Granny, I believe you and I appreciate you looking out for me, but with my job right now..."

Granny's eyes narrowed, her mouth tightening in displeasure.

"Maybe when I get back? I'll see—"

Her neighbor let out a squeal, clapping her hands together in excitement. "Oh, fantastic, m'dear! I'll call up Gloria right away!"

Belle nodded, backing quickly away to her car. "Okay, Granny. I'll see you soon."

Granny was lost in thought though, and didn't notice her departure; she was too busy rambling on about her matchmaking schemes, and playing with her phone—undoubtedly calling her friend to tell her to start planning the wedding.

"Bye, Granny!" Without giving her neighbor the chance answer, she quickly slipped in the vehicle, closing the door behind her, and giving her one last smile before pulling out of the driveway.

As she exited the neighborhood and pulled out onto the main tollway to the airport, Belle let out a sigh of relief. Her neighbor meant well, but their conversations, the majority of them revolving around her love life, or rather, lack of it, made her dread coming "home." In fact, the small home in the Lexington suburb, wasn't really her true home; rather, it was Belle French, the Travel & Leisure reporter's, home. Not that it bothered her though. An army brat her whole life, Belle was used to moving around, with no true home base.

Part of her base cover entailed having her neighbors being aware of her existence, so even though her house was a nearly an hour drive round-trip from Langley to Andrews, she needed to drop off her check to show her face, proving that yes, she did in fact exist. She just had a job with horrible hours that required her to travel all the time. Granted, some parts of her cover were easier to lie about than others.

Not as easy to avoid were her neighbor's interrogations. Granny Lucas had decided at some point to take on the role of Belle's "grandmother" when she assumed Belle had no family. Her eagle-like vigil around the neighborhood had made it an easy decision for Belle of whether or not to spend the night at a hotel last night. She didn't want to be lectured by Granny in the morning if she had noticed her come home in the middle of the night. In fact, Granny was so good at surveillance, that Belle had at one point looked into whether she had been an operative in her past.

_Oh, Granny_, she mused, chuckling to herself as she thought of the woman's schemes. She clicked on the radio, listening to the NPR. The Andrews Air Force Base toll way exit soon came into her view, and not a moment too soon; her caffeine surge from her morning's coffee was fading. The flight would be welcome respite from any distractions, and she could finally get a good rest. She was planning on falling asleep before the wheels left the tarmac.

Shame that she wasn't flying out of there.

…

"Would you care for a glass of champagne, miss?"

Belle opened her tired eyes, and accepted the offered glass, drinking it down greedily. If her lack of sleep didn't ensure a restful flight, hopefully this would do the trick. She relaxed back into her seat; there really was something to be said for fully reclining airplane seats. She was about to close her eyes again, when her phone buzzed.

_-Swan: Message to Andrews sent… Mills not happy-_

She grinned, and sent a quick "thank you" text back to Emma, before settling back into her 1st class British Airways seat.

It had occurred to her on her drive to her house that if Gold knew that he had been spotted, and still had any access to flight tracking, that he'd be watching any inbound flights to Rome, especially from US military bases. Thus, she sent the G6 ahead to Rome with one very happy Agency employee that had the good fortune to look like her, while Emma booked her a flight to London. She had to visit an asset in London anyways, if she was truly going to have a fighting chance against Gold.

_I have to stop thinking of him as "Gold,"_ she chastised herself, finishing off the champagne. She really should never have read his file in the first place, but she had no way to know what her assignment would be. He was a target. Not a person, not a CIA legend, not an individual with a past that she wanted to know more about. No, he was a target and he needed to remain that way. Her father, General Maurice, taught her that lesson at a young age.

With her mother gone, her father was all the family Belle had, so she traveled with him across the globe, living at Army bases on nearly every continent; his little shadow, she idolized him, absorbing his every action and word. "The General," as Belle lovingly referred to him, had been a great father, always answering her questions, and encouraging her to follow her dreams. She had no doubts that he would've been happy with whatever she decided to do, but his pride when she announced that she wanted to enter the service like him was unmistakable.

Like her father, she'd attended West Point, graduating first in her class. Afterwards, she was quickly recruited to the Army Ranger team as a sniper specialist. Her quick ascent within the ranks was a source of pride for Belle, since she had always hoped of attaining a leadership role like her father, but after her promotion, she was sent to Afghanistan…and remained there.

While she was stationed there, she worked on several missions with Agency men, inserting them into Taliban-held territory and providing cover in the initial counter-insurgency efforts. Somewhere along the line, she must have made an impression on them, because little over a month after her last mission, the Agency came calling, offering her a position within the SOC. At the time, she wasn't sure what it entailed, but frankly she didn't care. Belle's dream had always been to travel the world, not to be stuck in an endless guerilla war. Even her father had begrudgingly encouraged her, even if he really didn't want her to go with those "monsters."

That had been seven years ago, and since then, Belle had become one of the highest-ranked officers in the CIA's most exclusive force. The job's demands had made it difficult to be able to see her father, but she knew he was proud of her. Alone, all she had now were his lessons that he taught her, and his voice never resonated stronger within her than at these times – when her gut was telling her something was not right. Because if there was something her father had engrained in her, it was to always listen to her gut. The problem was that her gut was telling her that there was something wrong with this mission.

….

The familiar smell of coffee brewing tugged Belle from her dreamless, restful sleep. She rubbed her eyes and glanced over at the seat monitor. The small LED screen showed a little 747 flying across the Atlantic, its course nearly completed. The screen clicked over to a new graphic, indicating that they were only ten minutes from their destination.

Belle stretched out, refreshed. She'd slept the entire seven hours, which was nearly a record for her.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, the captain has indicated that we have begun our descent into London. We are set to touchdown in London in ten minutes. The local time is 8:40 p.m., and it is 14 degrees, with a light rain. For passengers connecting, we have the following gate connection information…"

Belle tuned out the stewardess in favor of drinking her coffee and double-checking that she had all of her documents in order. While traveling out of the country, her cover was that of a EU Environmental Agency Field Representative. It was a fake job, and a fake agency for that matter, but customs wouldn't know the difference. The cover was airtight thanks to some clever work by the CIA's electronic intelligence department.

She looked out her window into the pitch-black night. The glowing city peaked out of the scattered clouds below her. London was one of her favorite places to work. She also figured that it could be a good place to start to get some background on Gold, considering he started his career in the British Armed Forces and M6. She was on cordial terms with both agencies, especially M6, which could prove useful.

Soon, the plane landed, bouncing hard twice and spilling Belle's coffee all over her already-stained suit. That was her first order of business, she decided—to get some new clothes. She had been in too big of a rush to pack any suitable outfits when she had gone home. She had only packed a small carry on of disposable items that she could ditch at any time.

She clicked her phone on, and it began vibrating, again, and again; the screen filled with notifications of new text messages.

_-Mills: French report as soon as reach Rome-_

_-Swan: London field office informed you're coming; picture is of agent to pick you up-_

_-Mills: Glass reports that you were not on the plane-_

_-Mills: French you were ordered to go to Rome. Call as soon as you land-_

_-Mills: French call immediately-_

Belle debated calling her boss back, but thought the better of it, erasing all of the messages. If Mills wanted her to do this mission so badly, then she would have to let Belle do it her own way. The phone buzzed one more time; it was a voice mail from their liaison intelligence officer, Mary Blanchard.

Blanchard was one of the best that they had. While Belle and her teammates were in the field, Blanchard and her department were essential to supplementing them with intelligence during their missions. Before she had taken off in Dulles, Belle had requested her to look into what she could on Gold. And also what she could find out about Mill's past with Gold. There was more than what the Director was saying, and Belle needed to know before she could properly proceed.

Unfortunately, Mary's voice mail indicated that she hadn't been able to turn up much on Gold in the seven hours Belle had been in the air, but she was still searching. She had, however, been able to access Agent Black's file and she said that she would email the encrypted file as soon as she was finish compiling it. Well, at least Mary had been partially successful. It didn't reveal much on how to proceed with Gold though.

The plane jerked to a stop, halting at the gate. Belle collected her small bag, and went to pocket her phone when it buzzed in her hand again. This time it was a text from Blanchard. Belle paused at the new information, biting her lip as she contemplated the implications of the officer's intelligence. Weighing her options for a brief moment, she quickly scrolled though her contacts, and pressed send.

….

"Do you have a preference, m'dear?"

Belle looked up from her menu, and shook her head at her new companion. "I believe that this is your expertise, Spencer. I shall place my fate in your hands."

The silver-coiffed M6 agent nodded. "The lady and I will have the '08 Chateau Petrus Pomerol to start."

The server bowed. "Excellent selection, sir," he complemented, collecting their menus.

Albert Spencer sat back in his seat, assuming his austere mask of indifference. The man was one of the most senior agents in the M6 division. Most of her fellow agents found him steely, and well, frankly an asshole, but, or maybe due to the fact that Belle grew up with a General as a father, she got along with him quite well. Her braveness had impressed him on their first case together, and they had forged a tentative working friendship ever since.

Granted, it had taken several years before he'd finally allowed her the small compliment that she impressed him, but that opinion seemed to allow her into his confidence. It was still a fragile relationship though; one that Mills would not be pleased in her having and one that Belle didn't want to exploit. Going for assistance on a case like this with their cousin agency, without the CIA's blessing, could have serious political ramifications, but Belle had chanced it, after reading Blanchard's text about Spencer on the plane. Spencer had been Gold's first partner.

The waiter hurried back, and poured them each a full glass of the fine wine. Belle was no connoisseur, but she could taste the fineness of the vintage. This was all part of Spencer's act.

"Excellent choice, Spencer. This is fantastic."

He raised an eyebrow, tipping his head in appreciation. "Her Majesty spares no expense, unlike you bloody Americans."

Belle laughed. "I hope you're not referring to me, Spencer."

The older agent narrowed his eyes, and then grinned. "No, you're one of the good ones, French."

Belle raised her glass in salute.

The rest of the meal was passed discussing pleasantries, no business. It was an unwritten rule of Spencer's. A game of his per se. If he enjoyed your company enough, he might be willing to be cooperative. The problem was that you never knew until the end of the meal. So even though Spencer had accepted her call and invited her to dinner, Belle was not sure that he would be receptive to exchanging information. She could only wait and see.

"I know of a fine place for an after-dinner drink. Would you care to join me?"

Belle smiled, hoping that this was her opening. "This is your city, Spencer. I am at your disposal."

Spencer grinned, took care of the bill, and then led her out of the restaurant. Belle could feel him subtly checking for her firearm, or placing a bug on her, neither of which she had on her, or would have on her after she scanned herself for any surveillance equipment once she got back to her hotel. As for her gun, she'd have to wait until she arrived in Rome.

A short walk later, Spencer escorted her into a chic gastropub. It wasn't Spencer's style, which intrigued her, but she went along with it, following his lead. They sat in a small booth at the back, allowing them the full view of the restaurant, and ordered two glasses of cognac.

"So, what brings you to our shores? Is there something that I need to be made aware of?"

"No," she said, shaking her head, "Just looking for an old relative. We heard that he traveled over here and we're concerned."

"Hmm? Do I know of this relative?"

Belle played along. "I believe you may." She flashed him a photo of Gold on her phone, not wanting to say his name aloud or write it down. Spencer's stern face faltered for a brief second, a mere flicker, before he composed himself.

He folded his hands in front of her, a hardness overtaking him. "What are you asking me?"

"I want to know if you've been in contact with him."

"No." The answer was quick. And final.

Belle took another sip of her cognac. "He was your partner—"

"_Was_, girl," he said under his breath, the anger readily apparent. "Are you insinuating that I had something to do with your relative's disappearance?"

"No," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "I was just hoping that you would have some information of where I could find him."

Spencer squinted his eyes. "They sent _you _after him?"

His condescending tone angered her, but she tried to brush it off. "Yes."

"And why now?"

''He was recently spotted in Italy."

He waved her off. "Yes, but why now?"

The question threw her off. "Because we haven't seen him for quite some time and this is the first we've seen of him."

Spencer scoffed, raised his eyebrows dubiously at her.

"What?"

Her M6 counterpart tipped his glass towards her. "You're more impressive than this, French."

"You said that you weren't in contact with him."

"That doesn't mean that we don't keep tabs on our old friends."

"So you've _had_ contact with him."

"That's not what I said," he said, sipping his drink, while taking a casual glance about the restaurant. "French, consider this. How is it that we've been able to know the whereabouts on that Scottish rogue for these past eight years, when he's been "missing," according to your people?"

A queasy feeling of unease overtook her for a brief moment. "They've known all along," Belle admitted, saying it more to herself than to Spencer. She'd been toying with the thought ever since she'd heard that it had been Glass to find Gold; Spencer had merely confirmed it.

"You're in a dangerous game, m'dear. I'd tread carefully if I were you. Gold is not one to be trifled with, and he might not even be the man you're seeking either."

"What are you insinuating?"

"Nothing. Just to proceed with caution. It'd be a shame for the world to lose a beauty such as yourself."

Belle's eyes narrowed. "He's that good?"

The first true smile crossed Spencer's face. "Better," he said, drinking the rest of his liquor, and placing a two fifty pound notes on the table. "It was a pleasure as always, m'dear." He stood to leave, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair. "Enjoy the flowers." And he left.

…

Belle left the pub feeling more frustrated than when she entered it. Spencer was, as she had dreaded, a dead-end in terms of getting any additional information. But at least, he had confirmed her suspicion about Mills' knowledge of Gold's whereabouts. She filed that piece of intelligence away in the back of her head. It did her no use to call her boss up now and question her. If she was indeed being used as part of some sort of secret vendetta Mills had against Gold, she'd have to proceed with even more caution than she'd already thought.

She glanced down at her watch—11:03 p.m. She was about to look back up, when collided with a man on the sidewalk.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, looking up to see that it was a street side vendor selling flowers. _Flowers._

"It's all right, miss. A flower for a beautiful lady?" he offered, holding out a rose—her favorite.

She bowed in thanks, taking the envelope sticking up from his jacket pocket in a smooth brush pass. "Thank you, sir."

"Cheerio, miss. Have a good night."

Belle murmured her thanks again, and slid her hand into her jacket, feeling the contents of the envelope. It felt like a small flash drive. Maybe Spencer had come through after all.

As tired as she was from her flight and the after effects of Spencer's lavish dinner, she had one more visit to make, and hailed a cab. Once in the cab, she opened the envelope, which did indeed contain a flash drive, and plugged it into the port on her adapted smart phone.

The drive was filled with Gold's M6 file, as well as the M6's observations on him over the time he was "missing" from the CIA. It unnerved her, as it always did, that Spencer knew of their meeting's purpose without her telling him beforehand. There was no way he should have known what she was going to ask him. She hoped that it was simply a matter of him noticing Blanchard pinging his file, and connecting the dots, rather than an informer in their service, but either option was likely. Right now, it couldn't concern her. Paranoia was inevitable in the business, and it could be freezing if one contemplated on it too much. She filed away the observation and continued to scan the files from the drive.

It seemed that Spencer had gone above and beyond in the information he gave her. _He wants something. _What it was, she didn't know, but she was positive that she would soon find out. Information exchange for mutual benefit was how the business worked, but this amount of detail…well, he certainly wasn't expecting her to send him just a fruit basket.

Before she could think more on the subject, her cab stopped, pulling up to her asset's home.

Belle thanked the driver, handing over some notes, and then stepped out into the drizzle, cursing her forgetfulness for not bringing an umbrella to the dreary locale. Thankfully, her asset's home, or rather mansion, was only a few steps away. She only had to hope that he was home. This was his bewitching hour after all.

Instead of ringing the doorbell on the gate, she rang his phone. The phone rang nearly ten times, and Belle grew concerned that he wasn't going to pick up, but then a familiar voice picked up.

"Jefferson," a bored voice answered.

"Mr. Harrison. It's Bonnet—" The fake code name causing her to nearly roll her eyes. It was necessary though.

"Bonnet?...Bonnet! Yes, I'm so sorry, you surprised me," the smooth voice on the other line addressed, his excitement clear in his tone. "How can I help you? Or do you need my help? Or—"

"Mr. Harrison, are you at home?"

"Uh….yes. Yes, I am."

Belle looked up at the dark, grand home, hoping that he hadn't moved. One couldn't exactly go "up" from this Kensington Park address though. "Can you let me in then?"

"You're _here_?"

"Harrison—"

"Yes, yes. Right away." The phone clicked off and the gate in front of her clicked open.

Belle stepped through, walking up on the small stone path, and up several steps to the mansion's striking glass doors. She was about to knock, when the lights all went on at the same moment, and the door flew open, revealing a handsome gentleman in his early '30s…in a top hat. _Oh dear lord…_

"Bonnet!" Jefferson exclaimed. The billionaire playboy was nearly bouncing with excitement. "This is such a surprise. I was just thinking how it's been too long since I saw you last and how you just needed to see my latest work, and then—here you are!"

"Here I, am," she smiled, inwardly cringing. It seemed her asset was on an "upper" mood, rather than in his more preferable composed state.

She had cultivated Jefferson as a local agent several years ago for his society connections. However, after learning of his talent as a surveillance and general gadget inventor, she had continued to use him as a source for the latest in field technology. He was only too happy to be an asset of the secret agent, code-named "Bonnet"—a lifetime of James Bond and Austin Powers movies, working no doubt in her favor in that regard. The only problem, and the main reason that he was an asset in name only and not known by the CIA, was that Belle was fairly certain that well…he might be mad.

"So how can I help you? Wait—is this top secret? Can I not know? I won't ask any questions," he promised, pantomiming his lips being sealed with his finger.

Belle patiently sighed, smiling, and followed the man through his marbled entryways, nearly jogging to catch up. "I just wanted to see if you had anything that I could use for surveillance. Anything new."

"What _don't _I have that's not new? Come, you need to see this!"

She followed him into a small elevator, going down several floors, until it stopped, opening to unveil a large, underground laboratory. Jefferson, a son of an English shipping magnate, had clearly spared no expense on this 20,000 square foot space.

"So Bonnet, what do you need? Something for distance? Size? I have weapons too."

_Oh, Christ._ If there was something that she didn't want to know, it was that Jefferson had started dabbling in weapons technology. Guiltily though, she had to see it. "Just show me everything."

His smile lit up the room. "Fantastic! Okay, how about this?" He went over to a workstation, placing his top hat on the bench, and produced a petri dish with a fly in it.

"What's that?"

"It's a bug! Get it? A bugged-bug." He laughed to himself and took out a phone, placing the dish on the table beside them. With a few taps on the screen, the fly took off and flew across the room. "It has a range of five miles, as well as remote video and audio recording options. Here—try," he said, holding over the phone to her.

Sure enough, it was very easy to use and maneuver, with large "record," "audio," and "video" icons on the control screen. "This is amazing, Jefferson."

He looked as if he was going to faint from her compliment. "I'll get you two! Or do you need more? No matter—you can have them all. I can't tell you how long it took me to get that right, but it's great right? And here— look at this." Jefferson walked over to another bench, producing a disk, half the size of a dime. "Place this anywhere near a phone, computer, or data drive that you want to copy and it will download, and transfer all the information to the device you want."

"Doesn't it need to be plugged in?"

"Induction powered. Took forever to get right."

"I'm impressed." And she was. Jefferson's inventions proved time and time again to be the work of genius. Plus, they were reliable. All he wanted in return was to be known as a secret "asset" of the CIA. For a man who could afford anything and everything, the title alone was his only stipulation to their arrangement.

He grinned, his eyes a little too bright. "I'll get you a couple of those too. You see, I've been preparing a kit for you."

"A kit?"

Jefferson nodded excitedly again, leading her to another section of the lab, producing a small bag. "A spy kit. I thought of everything you'd ever need," he said, opening the bag and pulling out the multiple contents. He paused on a garment, holding it out to her. "I had to guess on the size—let me know if you need me to alter it."

Belle examined the tactical suit carefully. "What is it?"

"State-of-the-art tact suit. Completely flameproof and bullet proof. Well, at least for most rounds and distances. The material absorbs the impact."

By the time he finished unloading the bag, Belle felt guilty that she was taking advantage of Jefferson. She knew that the prototypes alone for most of these items were in the tens of millions of dollars. "Jefferson, I can't. This is too much."

"Nonsense, Bonnet. I've been waiting for you to return to give you this. You're the only one who can make it work. You're not leaving without it." He held out the re-packed bag, amazingly only the size of a small duffel, and Belle took it with her thanks.

"Would you like to see my weapons line, now?"

"I can't take anything out of the country. I don't have a firearms permit here," she said, afraid of what he was hoping to send off with her.

Jefferson pursed his lips, in contemplation. "So you're going out of the country?"

"Jefferson…" she warned, cursing herself for letting that slip.

He pressed his finger to his lips, and then his eyes lit up once again. "What if I could get you and my, uh…presents to anywhere you needed to go?"

Belle looked at her slightly crazy, genius asset and couldn't help but smile. "What are you suggesting?"

….

What Jefferson had been suggesting, and what Belle had accepted with little thought was the use of his private Global Express jet to Rome. After a full night's rest at the Savoy, Jefferson's driver had picked her up and taken her to a private airport outside of London where he stored his fleet of aircraft.

A short, two-hour flight later, Belle stepped out into the warm Italian sun. Her senses tingled with the familiar rush of a hunter entering their hunting grounds. Instantly alert, she scanned the tarmac for anything amiss. _Clear._

Once again assuming her cover of a EU Environmental Protection Agency official, Belle walked over and handed over her passport and documentation to the Italian customs official. Jefferson's carbon suitcases, filled to the brim with weapons and tactical equipment, had in fact worked perfectly with her cover and she declared them as environmental testing equipment.

"Ciao, Bella."

"Buon Pomeriggio, signore. Come sta?"she asked, easing into her fluent Italian.

The agent was instantly charmed, and after discussing what restaurant he would recommend for dinner, he stamped her papers, bypassing the luggage search, which caused Belle to let out no small sigh of relief. She didn't need to be held up in Italian jail, while the Agency tried to figure out how to get her out.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a dark-haired, middle-aged man, watching her intently from the FBO lobby. There was no way to take out her Sig Sauer in front of the customs agent, so she walked over to the security guard at the entrance.

"Mi scusi, può essere così gentile da aiutarmi con il bagaglio?" she asked, keeping her eye on the man with the white shirt, while the security guard graciously helped her with her bags as she requested.

The man followed, and she took her phone out, snapping a picture of him as she pretended to text. She quickly sent the photo to her identification app in phone, which directly connected to an encrypted CIA identification network. The man, though, turned and walked toward her. His smooth gait was faster than her phone's app, so she excused herself from the airport guard and walked over to the bathroom.

She only had to wait a minute before the door slid open. Belle waited until she saw his shoes enter the room and then kicked the stall door she was hiding behind forward, slamming the man in the head. The man stumbled onto the ground in surprise, his gun flying across the floor. He reached for it, but she quickly slammed her foot down on his hand, and then sharply brought her knee up into his chin. The man rolled onto his side. "French…" he groaned.

Belle's mind instantly froze, but she was still able to instinctively react, quickly reaching over to collect his gun. She leveled the gun down at the floor, pointing it at him.

Her bloodied attacker was sprawled across the floor, blood dripping from his nose and mouth. He tried to reach into his pockets, but she lowered her gun in warning. "Don't move," she commanded, aiming the gun at his elbow.

"Look here." With her other hand, she took out her phone, and using the identification app, scanned his iris. This produced a near instantaneous identification: Agent Pinocchio Booth, US CIA. _Shit._

The CIA operative wiped his mouth, grimacing. "Satisfied?"

Belle handed him back his gun handle first. "I'm sorry. I wasn't aware I was going to be met by anyone." Let alone anyone named Pinocchio. Did his parents have any sort of compassion?

Booth staggered back to his feet, waving off Belle's help. "Pinocchio Booth, nice to meet you," he said, offering his hand.

She shook his hand, feeling only slightly bad for the bruises he incurred on her behalf.

"I was expecting your arrival yesterday."

"Change of plans," she said, brushing off his comment. "Actually, I wasn't aware that anyone knew I was arriving today." _Who had told him?_ A feeling of unease quivered through her.

"We had a message this morning that said you were to arrive today."

_That_ she knew likely didn't happen, as she didn't tell anyone that she was using Jefferson's jet. She quickly scanned the area, wanting to get out of this airport as quickly as she possible. "Do you mind? I just need to make a quick call."

"Sure," Booth said nonplussed, more focused on brushing the dirt off his suit.

Belle walked away, staying away from the windows, and pressed send on her phone. A sunny voice greeted her on the other end.

"Agent French!"

"Blanchard," she said curtly, no time for pleasantries, "did you see the photo identification that I just sent over the C-NET."

"No, let me pull it up. One second."

She heard some furious typing on the other end.

"Ahh yes, let's see. IMINT confirms both the image and iris scan as Agent Pinocchio Booth."

Belle sighed in relief. "Thanks, Blanchard."

"So are you in Rome yet?"

"Just landed."

"I'm still working on Gold's file for you. I emailed over Black's to you this morning. You should have it now."

"Thanks, Blanchard. Could you check one more thing for me?"

"Sure thing."

Belle looked around. "Can you check my calls at home and see if anyone tried to call me here?" she asked, grimacing at her obvious veiled subtext. Anyone with a bug and a half of mind would know what she was asking. At least her phone was encrypted.

"Let me see…there were two calls. One from Director Mills yesterday, and then there was one from an encrypted phone somewhere in the building. Give me an hour and I can try and see what I can do. It's issued by us, I can tell you that."

Well, that was slightly reassuring. "Thanks, Blanchard. I appreciate it."

"Anytime."

Belle clicked her phone off, and walked back over to Booth, who was leaning on a Fiat.

"Ready to go?"

"Sure."

"Where to?"

"Do you need to get that checked out?" she asked, gesturing to the bloodied cut above his eyebrow.

He shook his head.

_Men._ "How about the office, then?"

"Sure thing."

…

The "office" she was referring to was the American embassy, a grand, cream building located on Via Veneto. Belle had been there several times, and found the locale ideal, the local CIA force…somewhat less than. The immense building was overflowing with incompetent personnel of several agencies that were widely known for their corruption and intervention in Italian politics. Basically, just your average bunch of fuck-ups. Ones that she'd rather avoid, but couldn't if she wanted access to their local intelligence, and assets on the ground.

This Agent Booth, however, seemed to be a somewhat decent agent, despite his obvious lack of self-preservation or knowledge of how to properly approach another fellow agent. He'd arranged for her to have access to all of their MASINT, IMINIT, HUMINT and ELINT feeds, as well as contacted several of his local assets that he was running to discreetly put an ear on the ground to see if anyone knew of, or had seen, Gold in the area.

The drive to the embassy had also allowed her to read Maleficent Black's file that Blanchard had sent over to her. Curiously, she found that Black and Gold had little interaction together. Their first, and subsequently last, mission was tracking and taking down a former KGB agent in Czech Republic. Black had been found dead in an abandoned mine outside of Jihlava several weeks after she failed to report in by local police. Her throat had been cut ear-to-ear. Not a professional job by any means. Belle had cringed as she scanned though the gruesome crime scene photos.

Gold had been identified as the murderer through the prints found on a knife also located in the mine. That, combined with his subsequent disappearance, had indicated his guilt to the CIA. Not exactly airtight, Belle thought, but it was pretty damning.

Innocent of Black's murder or not, the implication was enough for Belle to tread carefully where Gold was concerned, especially with Spencer's warning fresh in her mind.

"So, you said that you had a photo?"

Belle looked up from her phone, embarrassed by her rudeness. "Yes, on my phone. Where shall I send it?"

The Agency tech support man wrote down an email address, which she sent Glass' photos over to.

"Can you identify the location?"

"Aldo, can do it all," Booth cheerfully proclaimed behind her, walking over with two cups of coffee in his hand, giving one to her. "Can't you?"

Aldo beamed. "Yes, sir," then turning to Belle said, "I can compare it to every CCTV feed in the city, to give you the date, time, and location."

Belle raised her eyebrows, impressed.

"See? Watch this." The scanned photo was instantly covered in dots. Suddenly, a side-by-side screen popped up. "Do you have a date and time for us to start with? It might make the match go faster."

Thankfully, she did. "Yesterday, at 0100 Zulu."

The tech imputed the numbers and she watched the side screen flash quickly by until is suddenly stopped. A match. He proudly sat back, gesturing to the screen. "Your man, Bella."

It was indeed Gold. He was sitting at an outdoor restaurant, with only mere sunglasses as a disguise. Belle frowned. "Could you search the same location, on different days?"

"Of course."

"You'll find that he's there every day."

Belle turned around in confusion at Booth's admission. "What?"

He smiled. "One of my assets just got back to me. Gold's well known in the area by the waiters. He goes to Tre Scalini in Piazza Navona everyday at 2 p.m. to have his tea, and then he leaves."

Belle instinctively baulked. It was almost too easy. That made her nervous. The location was a popular tourist location, a good choice if one wanted to slip into the crowd unnoticed, but the daily routine was unsettling for her. Despite that, she couldn't help but feel the thrill of the hunt begin to creep up on her once again. So close…and it was nearly 1 p.m.

"Do you want me to set up surveillance?" Booth asked, as if sensing her decision.

"No, I need to go in alone on this, or else he will rabbit. I'm going to need some eyes in the sky though, just in case. Could you do that?"

"I'll have to coordinate with Gellenkirchen, but it shouldn't be a problem."

"Thank you," she said, genuinely. It seemed that she had grossly underestimated her colleague.

"Good luck, Agent French. We'll keep our eyes on you."

Belle nodded and walked out of the embassy.

…

1:45 p.m.

Belle looked back up from her watch, and went back to reading her paper, by one of the fountains. Tourists crowded the plaza, but her viewpoint provided a perfect location for her to watch the outdoor diners at Tre Scalini. The delicious smell radiating from the patio made her stomach growl, but her focus remained laser sharp. She could almost sense Gold's presence, as if he was standing by, watching her from the shadows.

Her watch clicked to 1:50 p.m. _Showtime._ She rose, collecting her belongings and strolled into the restaurant, selecting a seat on the outdoor patio. Now she just had to wait. Playing the part of a tourist, she selected the spaghetti al pomodoro, with the prosciutto curdo di parma to start, along with the house red wine. Not that she would eat any of it, but she needed a long meal to bide the time if Gold decided to be less than punctual for his afternoon tea.

However, it seemed that wasn't going to be the case...

Belle relaxed back into her chair, pretending to people-watch in the square before her. Instead though, her eyes were firmly fixed on a slight gentleman, with medium length hair, and an unforgettable face strolling—no limping—up to the restaurant. _How the_ fuck_ did Glass forget _that _detail? _

She dialed back her anger at her colleague's incompetence, schooling her features, as she noticed her waiter stroll up with her glass of wine. _Perfect timing._ The wine gave her a chance to redirect her gaze back to the restaurant and Gold. He had sat himself opposite her, in a back corner of the patio, to provide himself with the best view of his surroundings. As she had noted from his photographs, he did indeed project an air of regal sophistication; he was finely dressed in an expensive designer suit, with a pocket square to match his tie no less. He looked every bit of a handsome, successful businessman looking to have an afternoon drink. It was going to be a shame to have to kill him.

Sure enough, just as Booth predicted, Gold ordered English tea, and then curiously produced a teacup out of his jacket's pocket, along with his own spoon. _Clever. No fingerprints._ Belle couldn't help but be impressed.

She continued to observe the former operative, as the waiter served him his tea. His movements were fluid, cat-like even, to the point that Belle couldn't help but wonder if the limp was part of his cover. Suddenly, he glanced directly over at her and stilled in recognition. Belle's heart caught in her throat, but she forced herself to casually sip her wine, and smile back at him.

He ignored her though, instead redirecting his gaze from her end of the restaurant to the Piazza. A predatory smile crossed his lips, which he slyly hid behind his teacup.

_Oh, Spencer, you disappoint me. _

Belle watched as the CIA agent that she had sent over the previous day walked over and sat at the same fountain that she had been sitting at earlier, and opened up a newspaper. She didn't know the woman's name, only that she perfectly matched her description. She'd requested her presence when she drove over to the Piazza, if for insurance purposes only. Spencer's quick "no" at her question that he had no contact with Gold in the pub, hadn't sat well with Belle, so she asked the agent to pose as her. A quick trip to a local hotel bathroom, and Belle had been able to completely transform her own appearance. The wig, admittedly though, was a poor choice. The black hair was simply scorching in the sun.

She turned in her seat to greet the waiter, who had just arrived with her main course, adjusting herself so she had a better position to observe Gold. With his target in position, his entire being radiated a hunter whose prey had just arrived in its grasp and could sense a kill. He was patient though, she had to admit. He continued to casually sip his tea with the confidence of a man with years of experience beneath him. This was a game that he knew how to play, and how to play it well.

Gold continued to casually observe her associate by the fountain. For such short notice, the girl was playing her part well, doing exactly what Belle told her. She even held her newspaper at the appropriate angle as Belle had instructed, indicating that she was observing the restaurant, rather than reading. Belle wanted to give her a raise.

It became apparent that Gold was waiting for the girl's move. Or else he _really_ enjoyed his teatime, because it was almost 3:30 p.m. Belle had to order dessert to keep up with the slow proceedings. Whether he decided that he had the wrong person, or wanted to test her, Gold finally paid his check—cash only—and limped out the restaurant, gold-accented cane in hand.

Belle waited, slipping cash on the table for her tab and then followed him into the courtyard, discreetly observing from a distance. The sheer amount of tourists made it easy to do, and she slipped the wig from her head, and discarded her jacket into a nearby wastebasket, while putting on a stylish hat and new jacket that she had tucked away in her purse. Once at a respectful distance, she paused, reacting as if a bug flew in her eye, and grabbed a makeup compact to "look" for the errant bug.

From her mirror, she observed Gold limp up towards her colleague, and then stumble, catching himself on the girl's knee. To the casual passerby, he was just a poor, lame man who fell, catching his foot on the dark, cobblestone steps. To Belle though, it was a bold, if damn near careless maneuver, to plant a bug. Even if he hadn't planted a bug, the message was clear: "I know you're watching me and I know who you are."

_Too bad it's the wrong person, Gold,_ she snickered to herself. Every predatory instinct she had was going full-bore as she followed him out of the plaza at a distance. He'd damn near dared her agent to follow him. _Why so reckless?_ It was if he wanted to be found. First, with the photo opportunity, then with the regular schedule…it didn't fit the profile. Unless he was just _that _confident.

Belle wasn't sure what her plan was. Originally, she had just wanted to conduct surveillance, get a lay of the land, and see the man—no, target—in person, but now that she was here, the opportunity was presenting itself very readily if she played her cards right. Gold was only a mere twenty yards ahead of her, casually strolling down the narrow, paved side street.

_What's your game, Gold? What's going on?_ She reached down into purse, and subtly transferred her Sig into her waistband, clicking off the safety. Gold suddenly turned a corner into an alley. Belle passed it by, to see how crowded it was; it was empty except for a limping man and a couple lost tourists. Not enough cover.

Pausing to lay back ever further, Belle cautiously entered the dark alley once again, her senses going off at high alert. Gold had vanished.

She backed out of the alley, and into the crowd, following them towards the main street. She quickly pulled out her phone.

Booth, bless him, answered on the first ring. "Booth."

"Is there a camera on the corner of Pantaleo and uh…Vittorio Emanuele?"

"Should be…let me…uh, yes there are three CCTV from shops on that corner."

Belle broke into a run, darting down the next parallel alley. "Do any of them show, Gold?"

"No."

"He's wearing a suit and he has a cane. He has a limp—kinda hard to miss, Booth."

Booth growled back. "Searching here…nothing. Go back to the other street. He may have double-backed on you."

Belle stopped running, and looked around; her alleyway was completely empty. _Shit._ Gold was going to spook and rabbit out of here and it was all her fault for doing the exact opposite of what she planned to do.

Belle was about to respond when the crowd behind her became slightly muffled, as if something had stepped—

_Oh fuc—_

She ducked, right as a cane crashed into the stucco wall, where her head would have been. She rolled to get out of the way, but Gold struck again, connecting with the top of her shoulder. Pain instantly radiated from her arm.

Belle sprung up, grabbing her Sig, but Gold had disappeared into the open door from where he was hiding.

Through the door was a dark passageway to the other alleyway that he had originally gone down; its tight quarters echoed his uneven gait. Belle sensed the advantage, and sprinted towards him, launching herself at his back, both of them falling with a thud.

Belle pinned his one arm back as she pressed her knee into the back of his bad one. He shouted out in pain, and violently turned into her, struggling, but Belle pushed her weight further into his leg, and pressed the gun's muzzle to his head.

"Don't move," she said, icily, her brow beaded with sweat.

Gold gave a cough, and then chuckled. "I believe that you've decided that for me, dearie."

Belle wrenched her knee further into his, and he gasped. "Don't. Fucking. Move. Understand?"

Gold to his credit, nodded, still panting from the effort of running. "So, dearie, what's your plan now? Since you're not going to kill me."

"You're black-listed, Gold. You know what I am going to."

"No, you're not," he confidently replied, his thick Scottish accent lacing every word, "or you would've done it already."

Belle grabbed a fistful of his hair, keeping her gun pressed to his temple and pulled him to his feet. "That's where you're mistaken, Gold."

Gold turned, his face mere inches from hers. He stared into her eyes. It was the first time that she had seen his face, sans any sunglasses. His gold-flecked eyes shown with a brilliant intensity. "No, dearie, you're mistaken."

Before she could react, Gold leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, capturing hers in a brutal kiss. Her brain could barely register the act, before he went limp in her arms, causing her grip to slip as he violently twisted, and then using his momentum as leverage, flipped her over hard on the ground.

Belle grunted, stars crossing her field of vision at the hard hit. The loud clatter of her gun scattering away, caused her to reflexively reach for it, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash. She only had a millisecond to roll to the side to avoid the blade, but the knife still connected with her arm; a bright burst of pain shot forth once again.

The pain focused her vision and she kicked out her legs, connecting with the back of Gold's calf, and he badly stumbled—right into the path of her gun. _Oh no._

Belle tried to launch herself from the ground to grab the gun, but Gold got to it first. Staggering to his feet, he leveled the gun at her head.

"Now, dearie," he said, tossing his hair back, "this has been entertaining, but I must be leaving you now. It's a really shame I must kill you, considering how you surprised me. It's so rare that someone genuinely surprises me." He leveled the gun at her forehead, preparing to shoot her execution style. "Do know that I hold you in the highest regard."

Belle closed her eyes, feeling the cold metal press against her forehead and heard a click. She looked up at Gold, who was in complete shock. _Oh, Jefferson, you beautiful, crazy man,_ she thought, realizing that the fingerprint lock in the gun had worked.

She sprang up, catching Gold off-guard, and round-kicked him, knocking him to the ground. She reached for her gun on the ground, but a cloud of mist enveloped her face.

Pain tore at her eyes as she staggered back, blinded by his pepper spray. She could hear him pick up his cane and stagger over towards her. Nearly completely blind, she turned and ran as fast as could out of the alleyway, zigzagging her course in case he had his own gun.

She staggered out of the alleyway, and ran over to a public fountain on the wall, dunking her head in the water to try and remove most of the spray. It did little for the pain, but she could at least partially see.

She patted her pockets for her phone, but it was gone. _Shit_. She ran back to where Gold had originally assaulted her. Thankfully, her phone was still there. Pounding the buttons, she breathlessly pushed send.

"French—"

"No time. Gold is heading out on Vittorio Emanuele right now. Get him on camera. He's there," she panted. _Goddamn_ her shoulder hurt. That bastard better not have broken something.

Booth hummed, working on the other end. "Got him. He's walking down the sidewalk…okay, he's getting into a black vehicle—"

"Map it and lock it into MASINT.

"I can't with just the CCTV feed."

"Fine. Just get eyes on him now."

"Done. What are you doing?"

_What _am_ I doing?_ "I'm going after him, tell me where he's going—send it to my phone," she said, clutching her shoulder in pain.

"Doing it now."

Belle sighed. "Thank you." She jogged out of the side street and onto the main road. Vittorio Emanuele was packed with mid-day traffic. "Do you have him?"

"Traveling north in a black BMW 7 series. Locking in the plates right now."

"Just keep on that car." She quickly scanned the street, noticing a gentleman get out of a Maserati. _That'll work._

Sprinting as fast as she could to the car, Belle flashed her ID, surprising the man, and took the keys from his hand. Before he could react, Belle revved the engine and peeled out into the street.

She pressed a button on her phone, switching it to speaker; she was going to need to hands for this race. "All right, give me an intersection point, Booth."

"Okay, make a right at the next street. He's headed towards the river."

Belle shifted the car, throttling it into the turn and then sped off, weaving in and out of traffic. "Talk to me, Booth. Where's he headed?"

"Continue on this street—"

Belle shifted it into third, accelerating hard.

"No, sorry, turn now."

"Which _way_, Booth?"

"Right. Turn right, now!"

Belle floored the GranTurismo across three lanes, horns blaring at her.

"All right, if you make a left at the next intersection, take it up the hill. You'll follow it—wait. He's changing direction again. Go right now."

"Christ, Booth," she swearred as she swerved to make another turn.

"I'm sorry, but it's not as if I can predict where he is going."

Belle knew this, but it didn't make her any less annoyed. She revved her engine again; the V8 roared in response.

"Okay, he should be right ahead—"

"I got him," Belle interrupted, spotting the familiar head of hair in a black BMW three car lengths ahead. Without taking her eyes off Gold, she fumbled with her phone and then pointed it at his car, lasering it, and then uploading it to the server. "I just locked him in. Do you have him on MASINT?"

"Uh….yes. Reading him loud and clear."

"Okay, good." She fell back several car lengths, the black sedan barely visible from her viewpoint. "Let me know if he makes any strange maneuvers."

She continued to follow discreetly back in traffic.

"It looks like he's headed towards the Pinician Hill."

"Are you sure?" _Why is he going there?_ Once again, he was trying to be trapped.

"This road dead-ends there. He might be trying to ditch the car. It's another crowded tourist spot."

Belle thought on this information. "Can you put me on an intersecting path, to cut him off?"

"Take the next left."

The road was blocked with traffic barriers though. "It's blocked, Booth. Give me another way."

"Take the next left, road runs parallel to this one, and that will take you directly to the hill.

"All right." Scanning the mirrors, Belle made a hard left down the side street…directly into another barrier. "Shit! This one is blocked too, Booth!" She floored the car backwards, scraping the bumper as she swerved around, rocketing out of the street. _I can't lose him again. _

Horns blared at her as she floored it down the street, passing through a red light, and maneuvering through the passing cars.

"It looks like there's an event going on there. That's why all the streets to are blocked."

_Fuck. Gold knows._ "Where is he now?"

"Continuing on this road still. He's three lights ahead of you."

Belle breathed, trying to control her racing heart. "Okay, let me know if he diverts his course. I'll lay back and wait."

"Still driving…still driving….still—"

"Just let me know if he stops the car," she said in annoyance.

She continued to tail Gold, via Booth's instructions, noticing the traffic get thicker. It definitely seemed to be Gold's intention to ditch the car in the crowded park.

Nervously tapping her fingers against the wheel, she debated what to do, finally deciding. "Booth is there any way for me to cut across and cut him off?"

"I thought you wanted to lay back—"

"Booth—"

"Yeah, uh…make a right at the next light. Okay, Gold's making a right too. I need you to get to the Via Leonardi Bissolati. Can you do that?"

Belle simply floored it in response, the car roaring in approval, as she swerved to the side, nearly clipping the cars parked along the side of the road, as she drove 90 km down the side road. "Right or left, Booth?"

"Left."

She expertly downshifted the car; its tail end swerving out as she gunned it again, car horns blaring all around her in response. She shifted again, swerving in and out between cars as fast as she could. "Talk to me, Booth."

"He's entering the park, you should see him…now. See him? He should be turning in front of you now."

Belle grinned. _Got you now, Gold._ She followed him, only one car length back, no time to feign her tail. Gold instantly noticed, quickly accelerating down the road, scattering tourists left and right.

Belle floored her car in hot pursuit, her movements reflecting every one of his. They continued racing up and around the park's roads, until Gold slammed on his brakes, causing her to nearly collide with him.

_What are you doing, Gold?_ She panted from the adrenaline, but kept her hands and feet poised to follow in pursuit. But then the lights to his car went off.

"He stopped."

"I can see that," she growled back, tossing her cell in the seat. She reached down for her piece, but remembered it was gone. Thankfully, she had her smaller backup strapped to her leg.

She quickly unholstered it, clicking off the safety while keeping it low and out of view. There were too many civilians around to start a firefight. A cold chill went down her spine. Maybe that's his plan.

The black BMW continued to sit in front of her, with Gold sitting still in the driver's seat. It was like the Piazza–Gold waiting for her to make the first move. It didn't feel right.

"Booth, where's my backup at?"

"You didn't want any."

"What?"

"You said—"

"For the stakeout, Booth! Get me some fucking backup here now, because if you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a crowd of tourists and—"

"On it."

Belle kept her motor running as she waited for three excruciatingly long minutes. Suddenly, a fleet of vehicles surrounded them. Backup to Booth apparently meant sending her every Carabinieri stationed in Rome.

Stepping out of her car, she signaled for them to keep back; she wanted to talk to Gold first, before there was a firefight.

Her nerves stood on end, as she slowly approached the BMW, gun up and leveled at Gold's head. "Get out of the car and put your hands up, Gold," she yelled.

No reaction.

"Gold, I _will_ shoot you if you do not exit the vehicle and put your hands up."

She stepped one more step. _Come on, Gold, I don't want to shoot you like this. _

"Gold, get out of the fucking vehicle already!" she screamed, now becoming angry.

She inched forward to the car again, now able to see the outline of Gold's face in the tinted windows. Growling to herself, she kept her gun level, and used her other hand to open up his door.

_Fuck._

She groaned in frustration, holstering her gun and turning around. "Non è lui. Mettete giù le armi," she called out, telling the men to stand down.

The shaking man in the car was a dead ringer for Gold—or rather, his hair. He was crying; speaking in Italian so fast that even Belle had a hard time keeping up. With a quaking hand, he reached over to the passengers' seat, and grabbed a piece of paper, carefully holding it out to Belle.

She took the note from the man, reading it and then crumpled it in disgust as she strode back to her car.

Once in the car, she noticed that her phone had five missed calls from an unknown Washington number. _Mills._ Bracing herself for her boss' wrath, she pressed send. "French."

"Agent French," Mary Blanchard brightly greeted her, "where are you now?"

"In a park," she said, relieved it wasn't Mills. "I'm by the Borghese Gardens. Why?"

"We just found Gold."

Belle had to remove the phone from her ear, so she wouldn't have to subject Mary to an ear-piercing rant. "What did you say?" she asked, once again composed, abet for a severely clenched jaw.

"We just tracked him via SIGINT, boarding a private plane, bound for Cairo. He just took off, so if you leave now, you may be able to intercept him."

Without saying goodbye to her new entourage, Belle got in her stolen Maserati, and peeled out of the park, parting tourists like the Red Sea.

"Can you get me on something?"

"I have a jet waiting for you at Ciampino Airpot. I'm sending you the directions to your phone now."

"Thanks, Mary. I owe you one," she said, grateful for the lucky break and ended the call.

Belle couldn't help but pound the wheel in frustration again, causing her to yell in pain at her aching shoulder. She had been so close. Spencer was right—Gold was better than she thought. She wouldn't underestimate him again.

Driving as fast as she could to the airport, she glanced down at the crumpled up note he'd left her, now lying on the seat beside her. She unfolded it, reading it again. Despite the fact that she wanted to kill him at the moment for sending her on a wild goose chase through the city, Belle couldn't help but smirk at his note, written in an elegant script.

_You Chipped My Cup._


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: First off, I just want to thank each and every one of you so much for all of the incredibly awesome and lovely reviews you left to this story. I was seriously blown away! Sorry for the delay in getting this new chapter written, but hopefully the length makes up for it :) I hope you all enjoy this new chapter just as much as the last!**

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"Blanchard, can you confirm that it's Gold on that plane?...Well, can you please double-check?... No, I'm not doubting your signal, it's only that I just chased this bastard's double all around this damn city and I want to make sure that it's really him this time…Yes, I'll wait."

Gold smirked to himself, as he listened in to the staticky conversation. The flash drive's microphone and transmitter weren't spectacular by any means, but it worked well enough to serve its purpose: to give him valuable insight into his new, and soon to be gone, nemesis. It also had the added benefit of being rather entertaining, such as earlier, when Miss French had come up with numerous, creative nicknames for him during her drive to the airport.

He checked his mirrors once again, and continued to casually drive his black S550 up the road to the Park of Appia Antica, which overlooked the Ciampino Airport. Even though he could keep tabs on her via the hard drive's transmission, he wanted to visually confirm of her departure himself. This little minx had proven to be nothing if not extremely adept at her job, and unnervingly clever. She'd nearly succeeded in besting him. If not for a fortunate can of pepper spray that he happened to have in his pocket, she very well might have. Yes, he needed to personally confirm that French was indeed going to fall for his little ploy.

The method had been easy enough—have a contact plant a disposable cell phone in a departing jet and then call it, leaving an SIGINT trail that he knew Langley would sink their teeth into like a rabid dog. He had told his contact that didn't care where the plane went, just as long as it was headed out of the country. Apparently, he was bound for Cairo. How quaint.

Once it landed, he would call the disposable phone again, providing enough "confirmation" to his pursuers that he had indeed arrived, and his little agent would be off chasing his shadow again. French's inconvenience was of no matter to him—this wasn't her fight. He wanted Mills. He'd actually been expecting her incompetent, little lapdog to be the first one to try and take a stab at him, considering he was the one that Gold had allowed to photograph him. As if he wouldn't notice that mockery of an agent, in his obnoxious sunglasses and hat, trying to snap a photo with the subtlety of a train wreck. It was insulting.

"Chipped my cup?" his transmitter started again. "How about my fucking shoulder, Gold? What about that? Maybe I should leave _him_ a note next time," French growled to herself. "Asshole. Chipped his cup, my ass."

Gold laughed to himself at French's little monologue, as he rounded another bend. He'd been wondering if she'd received his note, and it appeared that she definitely had. He smirked again, hearing another huff on the other end. Well, she _had_ chipped his favorite cup after all, so his note wasn't completely in jest.

He was finding this Agent French more and more intriguing. It had been regrettable having to nearly kill her. It was one thing to kill an enemy; it was quite another killing one as beautiful as Agent French. And she was quite beautiful. And quite brave too. She hadn't even flinched when he had pressed the gun to her head. That was, well, intriguing to him. Under different circumstances, he'd be taking her out to a fine dinner this evening, with hopefully an even more successful evening afterwards, not sending her away on a futile chase. It was better this way though—less distractions for him, and less chance for her to get killed. Not that he would hesitate defending himself, but it would be regretful if he had to rid the world of such a beauty as she.

"La potrebbe mi dice per favore il numero di passeggeri che si imbarcare sull'aereo N2343…it ha lasciato a 4:43p.m… sì…la ringrazia."

_Hmm, so Miss French was quite the little linguist._ This bugged flash drive that he'd given Spencer was just proving more and more enlightening. He filed that bit of information away. He'd definitely have to read more about her once he returned home.

Finally, he arrived at his lookout and parked his Mercedes behind a large oak tree, hiding it from view. He quickly scanned his surroundings, ensuring that French hadn't double-backed on him. After waiting several minutes, he exited the vehicle, his knee buckling in pain.

_Fuck._ He clenched his teeth in agony, nearly hitting the ground before he reached out to brace himself against the car door. His knee was completely shot after French's little stunt of rearranging his ligaments with her own knee. He could only hope that she hadn't done more damage to the faulty joint. Tonight would be only worse since he wouldn't be able to heavily dose on his painkillers as he needed to, so he could keep his senses alert for a counter-attack. He couldn't put anything past this one.

Staggering up the hill, Gold lie down in the high grass, using his high-performance binoculars to scan the horizon for French's vehicle. His source had told him that she had stolen a black Maserati. She had impeccable taste for a thief.

_There_, he grinned, watching a black sports car peel around the bend below at a breakneck rate of speed. She definitely wasn't timid about driving that was for sure. He watched, approvingly, as she speed into the FBO's parking lot, leaving the car behind. Her blouse was now completely stained dark crimson around her shoulder due to the knife wound. He hadn't thought that he had been able to cut her that deep, but it seemed he had.

"Yes, Blanchard, I'm at the airport now," the staticky transmission started again, interrupting his line of thought. "What's the jet's position now?...Okay."

The recorder's transmission shut off, its volume growing more and more faint with each broadcast. He could only hope that the battery would last until the end of the day. The small device was efficient, but it would only last for three days before it lost its power. Hopefully, French read the files contained on it before then. He'd spent a good deal of time doctoring those documents. It would be a shame for his efforts to go to waste.

His knee began throbbing again, and he uneasily shifted in the grass again, while never taking his eyes off the FBO's tarmac door, waiting for his target to emerge. All he had to rely on now was her voice, since he'd lost visual contact once French had entered the small building.

"Hello, did you see this man get on a plane here about an hour ago?"

_It's not the time to be too thorough, dearie._ He could feel his pulse throb in his neck as he waited for her answer. He had paid off most—but not all—of the FBO's employees. He could only hope that she was talking to the correct one.

The reply seemed noncommittal, because French asked again. "Yes, I_ know_ that I'm bleeding. I need you to tell me if you saw this man in the photo."

He was quickly becoming irritated at her tenacity. Why wouldn't she just get on the damn plane already?

"Well, do you have some security camera footage that I can look at?"

Gold blinked hard. He wasn't going to allow _that _to fucking happen. His patience with Miss French was officially over.

He smoothly shifted his hips, grabbing his cell phone to dial the FBO's phone number, while trying to quickly remember French's current alias.

He only had to wait for one ring before a desk attendant answered. "Buon giorno, Sky Services Ciampino."

"Hello, yes," he responded in his best American accent. "This is Agent David Taub from the American Consulate in Istanbul. I am looking for an Isabelle Case. Could you see if she is still there? I was told to call her at once."

"Right away, sir," the agent replied.

"This is Isabelle Case."

"Good afternoon, Agent. My name is Agent Taub. I'm working here over in the American embassy in Istanbul."

"Yes?"

"An Agent Blanchard asked me to call you at once. I believe that we have identified your man trying to clear customs in the Ataturk International Terminal."

"Oh." French's irritated tone instantly evaporated at his bait. "Can you hold for one moment?"

"Certainly," he replied, hoping that she was just performing a quick trace on his phone, rather than calling Agent Blanchard. Thankfully a moment later, she got back on the line.

"Do you have him in custody, Agent Taub?" she asked tensely, obviously muffling her voice.

"No, we did not get the security warning on him until after he left. But we do have security footage of him—"

"Can you send it to me?"

"Of course. Right away. What is your phone number? I shall send everything we have to you right away."

French rattled off her cell number without thought. It was fascinating was desperate people would do. He promptly sent her several pictures of him walking through the same airport security area from several years ago. "I just sent them. Did you receive them, Agent French?"

He could hear a satisfied sound in his flash drive recorder's transmission, before she answered back, "Yes, that's him."

"What should we do?" he asked, feigning alarm. "Shall I put out a city-wide notice—"

"No!" French loudly interrupted him. "Do nothing. I am getting on a plane right now and will be there within the hour."

He tried to sound relieved. "Very good, Agent. We look forward to your arrival."

"Thank you, Agent," she replied, severing the connection.

Gold held the phone out to the side, looking at the FBO through his binoculars once again; French's commanding voice blasted loudly through the recorder's transmission as she quickly ordered a change in her flight plans.

Within minutes, he watched her exit the building at a quick clip with her long hair blowing in the wind and her pilots jogging behind her to catch up. The government-issued G4 quickly started up and taxied down the runway at high rate of speed.

As the jet began ascending, he called the FBO once again for good measure.

"Buon giorno, Sky Services Ciampino."

"Good afternoon," he greeted, resuming his natural accent. "This is Colin Wallace, from The Westin Excelsior. We had a guest, Isabelle Case, depart this afternoon and it seems that she's left her handbag. Her driver said that he dropped her off at your FBO. Do you have a forwarding address for her?"

"Umm…one moment, sir."

He knew that they wouldn't. He just wanted to know that it was indeed _the_ Belle French that had taken off in that plane.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry, but your guest just took off and didn't leave a forwarding address."

He sighed dramatically. "Oh, no! Ms. Case is one of our best guests. Do you know where she was headed? I could maybe send it to the American embassy there?"

This idea seemed to appeal to the desk clerk. "I believe that I overheard her say that she was flying to Istanbul."

"Oh, splendid! Thank you, Mr.…"

"Rossi."

"Mr. Rossi. Thank you. I will personally mention your assistance in this matter to Ms. Case."

"Thank you, sir"

"Of course," he said, ending the call.

_Goodbye, Miss French_, he smirked, looking out at the rapidly disappearing plane in the distance. He would've rather liked to have gotten to know her. It was a shame that he would never see her again.

…

"Hello, Mr. Gold," a voice purred in his ear.

Gold turned around in surprise at the unexpected voice, his face pulling into an unfamiliar smile. "Miss French."

She teasingly arched her eyebrow at him as she walked forward, raising her gun, and cocking it at him. "It's Agent French, to you Gold," she said, taking another step closer.

Her piercing blue eyes bored into his, mesmerizing him. His breath caught in his throat as his lioness' gaze trapped him. He took a step forward, pressing her outstretched gun into his chest. Unable to resist, he stepped even further towards her, pressing the gun harder against his chest, daring her to pull the trigger.

Her eyes widened, emboldened, and lowered her weapon. Gold gulped, panting, now he could feel the luscious curves of her body, pressing into him. He started to lose focus; all he could think of was capturing her moist, pink lips in his and burying himself in her.

Belle smiled, knowingly, and traced the muzzle of her gun up his chest, teasing him. He exhaled, his breath shaky with need. "Belle," he breathed. Pleaded.

She looked him up and down with half-lidded eyes, drinking him in, as she continued to trace her gun along his jaw and up towards his temple, stroking his hair with her other hand and placing it behind his ear. "Tell me what you want, Gold," she whispered back.

His breath was coming in short gasps, his body shaking in need. Her teasing was becoming too much, and he tried to press himself tighter into their embrace.

"What do you want, Gold?" she asked, capturing his earlobe in her teeth, lightly tugging it. She moved further down his neck, teasingly pressing light kisses up and down his throat. "Tell me," she breathed, kissing him just shy of his lips. "Tell me, Gold."

"I…I…" His eyes closed, and he hissed, gripping her waist like a vice as she nipped his shoulder lightly with her teeth.

"You what?"

"I want you."

She looked back up at him, her expression suddenly going cold. "No," she said, abruptly stepping out of his embrace.

His mouth opened in shock at her sudden change, but he couldn't respond.

Belle cocked her gun, leveling it at his head. ""Why would I ever want someone like you?"

He watched, paralyzed, as she smiled and pulled the trigger.

**_BANG!_**

Gold shot up out of bed, panting and drenched in sweat. His sudden movement made his chest wrench in intense pain and he gasped, trying to brace against it with his arm.

He looked over at the clock next to his bed, his vision taking a moment to focus: 10:15 a.m. He groaned, falling back into his bed, triggering another spasm of pain. _Fuck._

He closed his eyes, willing his heart to slow down. That dream had been…

He pushed himself up, before he could finish the thought, gritting his teeth from the pain, and swung his legs onto the cold, tile floor. He stood up, causing his knee to immediately buckle. He instinctively reached down, bracing himself against the bed, waiting for the pain to pass. The joint was decorated with new purple and green hues, no doubt thanks to Agent French's handiwork.

He really shouldn't have read her file again last night. The details, fresh in his mind, had provided his subconscious with too many details to seize upon and embellish. At least one thing remained the same—the end. He'd yet to sleep through the night when he hadn't dreamt of his death. Ironic, considering he was rumored by most to be unable to be killed.

A piercing pain shot from his right side as he shifted his weight towards the floor to grab his cane. Gold had to take another moment for the pain to pass, and then limped over to his desk. He swiped his tablet, awakening it, and checked the night's security status report. It seemed that no one had followed him back to his estate, or had been skilled enough to breach the boundary. He flipped though the numerous security monitors, showing the various parts of his land—the estate, the olive grove, and surrounding woods—and shut it off, content that all looked clear. Satisfied, he clicked the tablet off and staggered into the bathroom.

The cream, tiled room, with its high, arched ceiling was decorated with elegant antique mirrors, which he absolutely detested. And never more so than this morning, when his reflection mocked him, serving as an embarrassing reminder of yesterday's near miss with French. His bare chest was covered in a large dark purple bruises, nearly covering his entire right side. He gingerly prodded the area, immediately regretting it. It seemed that he'd fractured or broken at least one of his ribs, which he self-diagnosed from past experience.

His knee was even worse off. In the bright light of his bathroom, he could see the full-extent of the damage, and it wasn't good. An old "interrogation" had eliminated any functional use of the joint, but now, after French's abuse, it was swollen to almost beyond recognition.

An overwhelming feeling of tiredness nearly overpowered him as he evaluated the rest of his torso, a lifetime of violence marking his body from head to toe. Silvery scars and raised, pink tissue crisscrossed his tautly muscled frame. Too many missions…too long… He splashed some water in his face, ridding himself of the thought. _Get your mind in the game, ya wee sook_, he thought and downed a generous handful of anti-inflammatory pills and painkillers.

With his morning routine complete, he dressed in one of his many suits, sans jacket, and limped downstairs. The sun was already midway in the sky, bathing the estate in a warm morning glow. He walked into his large kitchen and gave another glance out the large window, looking for anything out of familiar. It was a beautiful view, and a strategic one at that, which he preferred even more. From here, Gold could see most of his estate, which was positioned on top of a hill, with his vast lands extending below. Survey over, he started a pot of tea and removed his now chipped teacup from the cupboard.

He liked this part of the country. It was isolated, quiet, and most importantly, far enough away from the city so he was able to maintain security. He was also able to maintain his secret hobby of gardening—not exactly a formidable trait in an SOC agent. He had a fierce sense of pride in his carefully maintained Italian garden.

A sharp whistle distracted him from his quiet reverie and he pulled the pot off of the brass stove. Without thinking, he took a sip of his tea, cutting his lip on the chipped cup. The metallic taste made him grin, as he suddenly remembered French's rant about his note. She was quite something, that one.

Gold took his tea out to the large patio, which overlooked the pool, gardens and olive grove, each located on their own plane of the hill. From here, one could almost see the city of Siena, its tower barely visible on the hazy horizon. He momentarily debated driving back down to Rome for the day for his daily photo-op, but a well-timed spasm in his knee quickly dismissed that notion, as much as he would've enjoyed tipping his hand to French that she had indeed fallen for his ploy. She probably already knew that though.

The realization gave him a start, and he reached for his phone, quickly scrolling through the numbers until he found the one he desired.

"Abir," a serious voice answered.

"How is the weather, my friend?"

"Thunderclouds on the horizon, sunny by Friday," his asset evenly replied.

Satisfied with the coded reply, Gold continued, "I need you to identify a contact. I will send you details immediately."

"Timeline?"

"As soon as possible."

The phone clicked off, without a reply. Abir was reliable, and ex-Mossad. If there was anyone who could find French in Istanbul, it was he. He scrolled through his phone again, emailing Abir a photo, and several aliases of Agent French. He would have peace of mind within the hour.

He took another sip of his Scottish Breakfast tea. That was the one thing that the Italians could never get right. One of the many perks of having an import business was that he could import his favorite tea from home and no one would bat an eye. It also didn't hurt that his cover business proved to be quite a lucrative venture too, allowing him to be able to afford luxuries such as the restored Norman castle in which he now resided.

His phone shrilly rang again, echoing loudly against the stonewall archway. _So soon?_

The phone listed an unlisted number. He answered the call, without greeting, per usual.

"Mister Alamar?"

"Yes," he replied in a clipped tone.

"This is Jochen Geisinger, from the Dexia Privatbank in Zurich. I was just calling to ask you about your experience today, and wanted to make sure that you were satisfied."

Gold sipped his tea in annoyance. "I don't believe that I conducted business with you today."

"Oh…yes. I apologize. I see that it was your wife that visited us today. Do you know if she had any problems or concerns regarding the transfer that she made today?"

His pulse began to quicken. "Her transfer?"

"Yes, I see that she transferred €75,000,000 Euros into your new account—"

Gold dropped the phone, leaving the banker still talking at the table. His anger threatened to overtake him as he all but ran into his study, dragging his failing limb along with him. The immense room was full of the latest in surveillance, and tracking software and equipment. He quickly sat down at his main computer station and brought up his Dexia Privatbank account. It took him a few moments to reveal what he'd already suspected—its balance was €0.

Gold cursed under his breath, growling at the gross violation of his privacy. How had French been able to do that? If it had been French. Of course it had been her; Mills would had never been that clever.

The unnerving problem was that no one besides him could have possibly known about those accounts. He had made sure of that. Only he knew the numerous, account access passwords and codes, let alone which banks he kept his money.

Thankfully, Gold was nothing if not thorough, and he kept the fortune that he had accumulated from his various base cover businesses and "freelance activities" in several accounts.

He logged into his second bank account in Dresdner Bank, listed under his second alias: A. Goldwin. Balance €0.

Biting back a yell, he logged into the third, and then the fourth…all cleared out.

A thin layer of sweat began to appear on his brow, and he quickly wiped it away. Thankfully, there was no way French could have gotten to his last two accounts, one of which he'd set aside and hadn't contributed to in nearly a decade. Opening the remote account log-in, he saw the balance, and yelled in frustration, throwing his cane across the room, shattering his glass cupboard in the process.

_That bitch._

…

Two and a half hours.

That was how long it had taken him to get to the bank, after Gold had leapt into his Mercedes, and raced to the Florence airport, where his chartered jet to took him directly to Zurich.

Two and a half hours too late was more like it though.

French had cleverly assumed the identity of his wife, arriving at Dexia Privatbank with all of the proper documentation and back-story, saying that her husband was traveling and she was supposed to transfer the money to a new account. An account, which the bankers were frustratingly unable to locate.

The CCTV footage of her coolly entering the bank, and cheerfully bantering with the banker as she signed over the documents, had caused Gold to nearly chip his tooth in anger. _That conniving little bitch._ He still didn't know how she'd found out where he money was located, let alone how she learned any of his account access codes. He was the only person who knew that information. Information was power, but money was even more power, and that bitch had stolen it from him. And she would pay…dearly.

He tried to calm himself, methodically switching the CCTV feed angles to view the office interior from different perspectives. French smiled—_smiled_—as she produced a slip of paper to the banker. The feed's resolution was too low to be able to read her lips, but it was clear enough what she was asking him to do. He sped the footage forward until the transaction completed and French and the manager shook hands. As she walked out, she looked up, directly into the camera, and winked.

He turned away from the monitor in disgust as he heard the branch manager enter the room. He had been trying in vain to locate the account the funds were transferred to for the past half hour.

"So?"

The banker looked sick. "I'm sorry, Mr. Alamar, but so far we have been unable to track where the money was finally transferred to. It seems that it was bounced around several banks, disappearing in a bank in Montserrat. After that, we lose the trace."

His mind immediately went into mission mode—intent and purpose. French did this for a reason. She obviously wanted his attention. Granted. Now, what was her plan? Retire with his money? That didn't seem to be her style from what he knew of her. No, she wanted something from him, and he knew that it couldn't be just payback for sending her jettisoning off to Istanbul.

"Sir?"

Gold snapped back into the present. "Do you have her original note with the account number on it?"

"Of course, sir," he said, quickly moving around to his desk where he produced a paper with a simple instruction and bank account written on it. Apparently, French had even used personalized stationery, embroidered in fine gold script: From the Desk of Isabelle Alamar.

"Thank you," he replied, rising from the leather chair and collecting his cane.

"She also left this," he said, handing Gold an envelope, "I think she forgot it."

_Doubtful._ Gold grabbed the envelope from the banker's shaking hand, ripping it open. Inside was a $100 bill, and a handwritten note: _For your cup._

_Very clever, dearie._

"Sir, we have Federal Department of Justice and Police on this right now. I will let you know—"

Gold glared at the gullible banker. "I believe that you've done enough. I will fix this myself."

"Sir..._Sir?"_ The banker pleaded, following him through the bank.

Gold had no time for his nonsense. French had reacted. Now it was time for his response.

"I hope that this doesn't discourage you from banking with us in the future!" The man called out behind him.

He waved back at him in dismissal, without looking around._ Incompetent fuck._ When he got his money back, he wasn't letting it anywhere near these people.

He scanned the crowded street in front of him, and then turned left, slowly walking down the cobblestone steps. French was here. He could sense it. She would've known that he would come. Now he just needed her to reveal herself.

After a short walk along Limmatquai Street, he found that he needed to stop; his knee was too swollen to continue. He checked his surroundings. If French was here, she was damn good at concealing herself.

The smell of coffee beckoned him into a little street side café. He sat down, ordering his usual, and continued to scan the street from his position on the patio, checking for any of the usual tells—an angled newspaper reader, an open window, a casual traveler "lost" in the crowd. He shifted in his seat, remembering French's aptitude with long-range sniper shooting, but there weren't any good locations from where she could position herself. His random selection of restaurants had given him at least a brief respite from that threat if that was indeed her true intention.

The waitress quickly brought him his order, which he drank, chasing it with a long swig from his metal flask. He took out his phone, checking to see if he had any signal from the flash drive, hoping for a break, but it was dead as he suspected. French's voice had slipped from his grasp the moment she took off to Istanbul.

He leaned back, pocketing his phone. Street-level operations were more his style anyways, rather than relying on technology. Technology could fail you while your instincts wouldn't. And his instincts told him that he was being hunted. _Not for long_, he thought, sipping his coffee again.

Gold waited another half-hour, hoping that his little brunette would make an appearance, but nothing struck him as unusual. His leg was feeling recovered enough to at least walk for a little while longer, so he rose from his seat, leaving 10 francs on the table, and walked down the street again.

His phone rang again. _Abir._

With a quick glance around, Gold positioned himself against a tree, facing the Limmat River, which paralleled the street.

He clicked the phone on, and waited for the greeting.

"Gold?" a familiar voice asked.

He smiled in recognition, his inner predator taking over. "Agent French," he purred.

"Beautiful day for a stroll, is it not?"

He quickly scanned the people around him, looking for anyone on a phone. "Quite."

His response was met with silence.

"Is there a reason for this phone call, dearie? Or are you just calling to discuss the weather?"

French chuckled on the other end. "Can't a person just call up another to say hello?"

Gold bit back a smile, admiring at her confidence. "Most certainly," he said, scanning the crowd once again. She would be close. _There._ A familiar head of brown curls walked casually ahead of him along the river. "Hello, Agent French." He tried to increase his pace, but the operative increased hers as well.

"Hello, Agent Gold," she smoothly replied back.

He could see her now, only a dozen lengths ahead of him. His leg screamed in pain, but he pursued her with the dogged determination, blocking out the pain. Adrenaline would kick in soon enough.

"So what brings you to, Zurich, dearie?"

"Business. I recently came into some money."

He clicked his teeth. "Oh, did you now?" He forced himself to walk faster, dragging himself along with his cane.

She maintained her pace, slipping in and out of the crowd. "I did." She suddenly changed course, and he lost her in the crowd. "Perhaps, you would know a good bank I could invest it in."

"Oh, I think you have that covered, dearie," he spat, severing the connection. He was done with her idle, mocking chitchat. All it did was leave him vulnerable and open to attack. With his hand now free, he unclipped his Beretta, taking off the safety. He needed French alive to get the transfer codes, but that didn't mean that he couldn't inflict a little well-deserved pain in the process.

He spotted her again, this time further ahead, and he awkwardly tried to run to catch up, pushing bystanders aside.

Her handlers must have seen him, because she too broke into a jog, without looking back. _Goddamn eyes in the sky._ He tried to lengthen his stride in turn, but quickly proved futile with his bum leg.

Gold looked ahead and watched French suddenly jump over a rail towards the river, disappearing below.

He rushed over to the railing, cursing her, and looked over. French was at a dead run in the opposite direction towards the docks, and gaining ground quickly. _Oh, fuck_, he thought, looking down at the ten-foot drop to the sidewalk below. Without another thought, he tossed his cane below, and pulled himself up and over the rail, landing hard on his feet. An eruption of pain shot through his entire body—whether from his leg or ribs, he couldn't tell.

Grabbing his cane, he looked up, locking French in his sights and leveled his gun, aiming it at her shoulder. She was too far out of range. _Dammit._

He gathered himself up, and broke into an uneven run again. People jumped out of his way, screaming at his lowered gun.

French was already at the docks. He watched as she suddenly stopped, turned around, and smiled at him, before jumping into a boat. Without looking back, she sped away from the docks at full speed.

Quickly evaluating the situation, Gold ran down the next dock. "Get out of the way," he yelled, scattering the boaters on the dock.

He was running out of time. He scanned the area, spotting a man in the process of docking a 45-foot, polished wood, motorboat. Without preamble, Gold kicked the man into the water from behind, and jumped into the boat, quickly flooring it away from the docks.

"Rövhål!" the man sputtered.

"Thank you," Gold said, with a wave. The cleats ripped away, and snapped back, scraping the fine polished wood side.

Now at full speed, he scanned the horizon, looking for French. _Where did you go, dearie?_ He urged the boat faster, pushing it to full throttle; the boat's wake creating a huge wave behind him.

Finally, he spotted her hair blowing in the wind ahead of him, and he angled his vessel towards hers, but then, she suddenly made a sharp u-turn, heading right back around towards him, head-on.

_What the hell is she doing?_ Gold held his ground, not sure what she was up to.

The small motorboat came closer, ten boat lengths ahead….nine…

_What the fuck are you doing, French?_ She seemed to have no fear. Her course held straight and true, directly into his path.

Six boat lengths…five…

Gold's blood roared in his ears, as he steely kept his course. He wasn't about to flinch in this woman's path.

Three lengths.

Two lengths.

It wasn't until he was nearly on top of her that he saw her gun, outstretched. _Oh fuc_—

He ducked, swerving to the side, bullets ricocheting off his windshield, puncturing it with three holes where he once stood. He looked back, firing two return shots at the speeding boat.

He kept his boat floored forward, pointing it towards the mouth of Lake Zurich. If she wanted to play this little game, he needed more room to maneuver. His sleek racing boat was faster than her small motorboat, but hers was more maneuverable, as evidenced by her quick turnabout.

He glanced back in his mirrors; French was now in full pursuit behind him.

Up ahead, Gold saw a large tourist boat pulling out from the docks. Seizing the opportunity, he veered to the inside, towards the docks, which caused the tourist boat to swerve, moving itself parallel, blocking the river. He looked back and saw a huge wave of spray blast up and over the large sightseeing vessel, undoubtedly French's wake, who was now temporarily blocked.

He grinned, imagining her using one of her more creative names for him now, and pushed his lever forward to full power, and jetted towards the lake.

**_CRACK!_**

He instinctively crouched, at the sudden noise, noticing a new bullet hole in his boat's rear. _How the fuck did she—?_ French was now only a couple boat lengths behind him.

Another shot ricocheted off the bow and he turned his boat sharply again.

_Crazy bitch. _

His boat faltered at his sharp maneuvering, and he pushed the throttle all the way forward, willing the boat to correct itself. It shot violently forward, nearly causing him to lose his grip on the wheel. That was the last thing he needed— to be killed because he couldn't drive a damn boat.

He glanced back over his shoulder. French was still behind him, but now several lengths behind, his boat's large engine outpacing hers on the flat open water.

With his lead gaining, Gold found himself at an impasse. He could lose her here, but she had the account numbers. And he _needed_ those account numbers. Gripping his gun tighter, he swung his boat in a wide arc, spray flying as he pointed his boat directly back at French's.

Resolved, Gold throttled his boat forward, ducking below the wheel as bullets hit the windshield, shattering it completely. He kept his hand on the throttle though, slightly turning the wheel towards French.

At the last moment, French flinched, swerving out of the way, but not completely in time, and the two boats collided in a loud squeal as their sides hit each other. Gold took the opportunity to turn around and fire three shots into her engine.

He couldn't tell if he was successful, so he turned his boat again in pursuit. The engine roared as he gained on French. As he got nearly even with her, he crouched, getting off two more shots, before he peeled away.

This time he was successful. A large cloud of black smoke bloomed in his rear view mirror. He wheeled the boat around, streaking back towards his rival's boat, which was now dead in the water, small flames now flickering in the engine area.

He drew his gun, cautious, as he slowed his boat towards hers.

"I believe your little game is up, dearie," he called out.

The flames grew larger, the black smoke nearly obscuring his view.

He looked over to the shore; it was nearly a mile away. Too far for her to have swam away. The water was glassy flat, abet for the waves from their combined wakes.

"Give up, dearie. It's over."

He swept his gun, from rear to bow, but could detect no movement or flicker of light from a gun's muzzle. Unnerved, he moved his boat closer.

Now with a clear view of the open boat, he frowned in confusion, coughing at the smoke blowing in his direction.

Agent French was gone.

…

"In other news tonight, Karl-Johan Persson, son of Swedish billionaire Stefan Persson and current president of Hennes & Mauritz, was assaulted and his boat was stolen from the Limmat docks this afternoon. The boat was later found abandoned on the shore with numerous bullet holes in it. Hennes & Mauritz released a statement—"

Gold clicked off the television in anger. That was just some bad fucking luck on his part that he had happened to steal the one boat whose owner had any sort of pull in this city. If it hadn't been for the sheer randomness of his heist, he would've sworn that French had planned that too. It was just one of many setbacks he faced after having to abandon his search for the blue-eyed agent.

He'd played the role of the concerned passerby for nearly an hour, after he abandoned the boat on the shore, scouring the water and coastline for any sign of French, until he had to leave, overhearing a call over the radio for an alert on a stolen boat. He had a feeling that Spencer was going to have a goddamn field day with this.

He opened up his laptop once again, and took French's notes out of his jacket. _For your cup. Touché, dearie_, he snickered, placing that one aside. He took out the other slips of folded paper, with the bank accounts written on them.

After he'd abandoned his search, he'd visited the other branches where French had stolen his money from, each providing him with the same, sad story. By the last one, he'd simply walked straight into the branch manager's office and demanded the piece of paper the woman had left—no other questions asked. His internal clock was counting down, and he felt the unfamiliar unease of time pressure to find his money.

She just had to take his money, of all things.

With his computer fully booted, he eased off of the bed, attaching a small encryption device to the wall. The small device was state-of-the-art, encrypting all of his data he sent over the Internet. Simple and effective. He also took the opportunity to discard his tie and refill the ice pack that he was nursing his knee with. That grotesquely swollen joint was just another tragedy onto itself, but one that he would have to deal with later.

The problem was where to start. The money could be literally anywhere in the world. He had chosen Zurich simply for the convenience of its proximity to his estate, but there were countless other similar anonymous offshore banking institutions that she could've placed the money. That was, if she did place it in an anonymous account, and didn't just hand it over to Langley. A sliver of fear worked its way up his spine at that thought, but he quickly dismissed it, reminding himself that she was using it as bait. Simply handing over his money to Langley would be game over. She would know that he would never accept a deal where he wouldn't get his money back. That was if she wanted to deal, and not simply to kill him. He pinched his brow. She was just so goddamn confusing. He could deal with someone trying to kill him, but this indecisiveness on her part was pissing him off and making her motives nearly impossible to discern.

Gold started with the Dexia Privatbank account—his largest, and the first that French had decided to hit. His fingers went into action, pounding furiously at the keys. The funds, as the banker had said, been bounced around various accounts from Antigua to Singapore to Montserrat, where the trace went cold. Thankfully, the sum of money was large enough to be noticeable, so Gold hacked into the two largest ones, The Bank of Montserrat and the Royal Bank of Canada. The security of each bank was frighteningly simple to hack, and the thought that French had possibly left his money there made him queasy.

After several minutes, he found the original transfer occurred at the Bank of Montserrat. The funds had arrived at 11:03 a.m., Montserrat time, only an hour before he'd arrived in Zurich. The current account showed a balance of €0 though. Undeterred, Gold switched into their transfer interface to see when and where a transfer of €75 million Euros had been conducted. However, there was nothing. At all. Another possibility came to mind, and he tried viewing the daily branch withdrawals, but that was another dead-end. It was if his money had simply vanished into thin air.

He hurriedly tossed the slip of paper aside, picking up the second bank note with a different bank account number. This one, he found, had been bounced around from Malaysia to Ghana; French seemed to be nothing if not egalitarian in her treatment of his money. This account was like the first—vanished without a trace. _Dammit._

Gold tried another tactic, starting a scan of all worldwide banks for the specific transaction amounts of €75 and €34 million euros. The search would take nearly an hour, but thankfully the specific search would be a sure-fire way to narrow down his list of banks while he searched for the other accounts. In the meantime, the Baur Au Lac Hotel had nothing if not stellar room service.

Forty minutes later, the rapidly scrolling screen on his laptop stilled, pinging its completion. 49 results. It seemed that Miss French had kept the global banking system busy today. He downed several more pain meds, chasing it with water, and started on the search.

Most he had already looked at, that was, until he got to the last one.

Gold smiled and clicked open his cell phone. Room service would have to wait.

"Good evening…yes, I would like to arrange a flight."

…

The flight down to Antigua was a long, ten hours, but at least he was able to continue to work on his flight, thanks to his encryption software he had installed on his private plane. Gold had discovered that Belle French had made one, small error. Ironic, in the sense, that it would be_ that_ account she would error on, but it was enough for him to notice. A transfer of €185,000 was made from AKB Privatbank Zurich to CIBC FirstCaribbean International Bank, and from there it had stayed in an anonymous account, waiting for him.

He fully knew that this could be another trap that French may have set, but he'd rationalized with himself that if he couldn't handle an inexperienced, young operative, then he might as well retire for bloody good.

Also during his productive flight, he was able to find a reservation, made the same day, for a Bella Francois, at the Jumby Bay Resort, conveniently located on a nearby private resort island, and promptly made a reservation of his own.

Gold's first order of business was to ensure that his money was still in the account, as well as to see if French was indeed on the island. Both tasks could be accomplished easily enough.

_Christ, it's bloody hot here, _he thought, as he exited the Falcon. There was a reason he lived in Tuscany, and not somewhere where it was humid enough to forsake showering all together. He strode off the tarmac, donning his hat and sunglasses.

A group of porters were waiting in the wings to take him and his bags to the nearby island.

"Good afternoon, sir," the first one said, bowing before him. "Do you require a private car to the docks?"

"No," Gold said, looking down, feigning disinterest, as he made as show of unfolding a large wad of bills from his pocket. "I do, however, need assistance getting my bags to my resort. Will that be a problem?"

The man's eyes focused on the cash. "No, sir. Not at all. We would be happy to assist you."

"Good," Gold smiled, peeling off a bill for the man. "I need these delivered to Jumby Bay; reservation under Nadar." As the man turned to grab a bag, Gold stopped his path. "I do have something else to ask you. I'm meeting a friend here. I was wondering if you knew if she landed here yet," he said, showing him a photo of Belle French.

It took two seconds before the man smiled in recognition. "Yes, sir. Ms. Francois arrived here this morning. I ferried her to the island myself. Are you staying at the same resort?"

"Indeed."

"Shall I tell her that you arrived when we deliver your bags?"

Gold waved him off, giving him another three large bills. "Oh no, that's not necessary. I wish to make it ah…surprise."

"Of course, sir." The porter smiled, as if he was in on some secret, and grabbed his bags. "Thank you, sir. I will get these delivered right away."

Gold snickered to himself. "No rush."

With his bags taken care of, he waved for a private car to take him to Market Street, where the bank was located. However, instead of following his instructions to take him directly to the bank, his driver insisted on giving him an oral history of the area and taking him to "Scott's Row," since he assumed that Gold would be interested since he was Scottish.

By the time he finally arrived at the bank, it was nearly 3:00 p.m. Gold paid the man to keep the car running, and limped up to the bank's entrance.

-CLOSED-

_Shit._ Gold cursed in frustration. Only on this bloody island would the banks close at 2:00 p.m. He quickly composed himself, and made his way back to the car. He could confirm the money's location easily enough with his computer, but he had hoped to see if French had left him any more "notes," as well as check the security tapes to see if she had altered her appearance.

"I need to buy some clothing," he announced to the driver.

The man turned around in earnest, beaming. "Yes, sir. I know of just the place."

_Just as long as it doesn't involve another fucking story._

…

Newly attired in what could be only described as "island" wear—tan khaki's and a pastel, silk polo shirt—Gold walked into the hotel lobby. French certainly had good taste when spending other people's money that was for sure.

"Good afternoon, sir," a petite woman greeted him from behind the marbled front desk. "Checking in?"

Gold smiled at her. "Actually, I was just traveling on a whim, and was hoping that you had something available." He knew that they did in fact have room available, considering a Mr. Nadar had not yet arrived to claim his reservation. He wasn't about to give French_ that_ much of a head start.

"Ahh, yes. It seems that we have the Rondavel suite available, or we have several villas available."

"Do you happen to have any villas on the eastern side of the island. I just love to watch the sun rise." He knew from her reservation that French was staying in the L'Acqua Villa on the western side of the island.

"Certainly sir. Let me look for you…let's see…yes, it seems that the Eagles Landing Estate is available. It is—"

"Perfect," he smiled, flipping her a credit card.

"Very good, sir," the attendant nodded, swiping his card and handing it back to him. "Will there be anything else you will be requiring today, Mr. Rezar?"

"No, that will be it. Thank you."

"Very well, Mr. Rezar. If you just walk though those doors to your left, Rodney will take you to your accommodations."

He nodded, collecting his small suitcase that he purchased in town, and walked over to the awaiting golf cart. Rodney, thankfully, wasn't nearly as chatty as his previous driver, for which he was grateful. He had too many things on his mind to be bothered by talkative tourist guides.

The villa itself was clear across the island; a ten-minute drive via the GEM golf cart. Not a comforting buffer, but a buffer nonetheless from French. As he came upon it, he immediately regretted his spontaneous decision; the foreboding 7,000 square foot villa was an operative's worst nightmare and would be nearly impossible to completely secure.

"Here you are, sir: the Eagles Landing," the tall bellhop announced, collecting Gold's bag from the back of the car.

Gold followed him in, scanning his surroundings for any sort of noticeable cameras or pre-existing surveillance. He saw none. He would swipe the area later with a detector to be sure.

"The pool and tennis courts are through these doors to the left, and the garage is located through there," he said, pointing down a long hallway. "There are two golf carts in there if you wish to explore the island. And if you require any dining assistance, simply call the concierge and we will send over a chef to you right away."

"Thank you," he said, handing him over a bill.

The bellhop gave him a little bow. "Also, sir, this is for you," he said, handing him an envelope. "Good day, sir," he bowed again, leaving Gold alone.

He waited until he heard the GEM leave the premises, double-checking the exit. Placing the envelope on the table, he went into his suitcase, opening up his laptop, and removing a small rectangular device, which triangulated any sort of tracer or bug preset within a 100-meter radius. He silently took the meter throughout the house, and along the property, his leg aching every bit of the way. The detector didn't flash once. He didn't know whether to be pleased or suspicious.

Satisfied for the moment, he returned to the large living room where he left the letter. He was fairly sure that it was from French, thus his need to sweep the area for bugs. He wasn't going to let her watch him seethe with whatever she sent him.

Gold set aside the envelope for a moment, donning leather gloves, as a precaution. Inside was another white envelope, addressed to "Gold," and written in a familiar, hurried script. Unabashedly intrigued, he opened the second envelope, which contained two cards. One was an invitation to a benefit auction and dinner to be held at 7:00 p.m. tonight at the Ty Molineux Villa, as a guest of Bella Francois. He grinned, French was nothing if not bold. He flipped over to the second card, and laughed aloud genuinely. Apparently, French had quite the sense of humor too.

…

"Name, please?"

"Bond. Jameson Bond," Gold replied, cringing at the name French had supplied him.

The attendant looked abruptly up from his list, raising his eyebrow.

"Family name," he said dismissively, walking into the grand plantation-style mansion, his cane echoing loudly on the marble entrance.

The villa was packed to the brim with bejeweled trophy wives and their tuxedo-clad escorts, each loudly boasting about their latest acquisitions and mergers. Large signs in the great foyer announced that the benefactor of tonight's party was the Haiti Relief Fund. Gold edged through the dense crowd, scanning for any sort of threat. He was armed to the teeth—his Sig M11, holstered in the small of his back, two full clips in each of his dinner jacket pockets, his Mark III knife in his pocket, and his backup Browning pistol strapped to his leg. French _had_ written gun optional in her invitation.

Outside, the pool area was lit with bright, fuchsia up-lighting, highlighting the ground's foliage, as well as the villa's impressive architecture. White tables attended to by scantily clad waitresses lined the immense pool. Flaming torches also lined border of the property, which extended to the beach, the waves loudly crashing in the distance. If he wasn't so focused on the numerous security foils and hiding locations that his would-be assassin could be hiding in, Gold might have been able to fully appreciate the sheer grandness of the affair.

Right before he was about to depart this fools errand, he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes fixed on the other side of the pool. French stood casually off to the side, talking with a tall, white-haired gentleman, whom he couldn't identify offhand. She certainly wasn't dressed like an assassin, although neither was he. Instead, she was dressed in a one-shouldered, floor-length, cerulean blue gown, with its back cut down nearly to her waist. She damn near shimmered against the firelight.

He quickly averted his gaze, trying to blend back into the crowd, hoping that he hadn't been spotted. The last thing he wanted was to be on the defensive, considering this was her turf. He reached into his jacket, and un-holstered his knife—his favorite. He found that it was an effective, silent weapon to get her to come with him. He had played his role as the obedient follower coming here, now he would get his answers.

"Jameson!"

Gold immediately grimaced, and then forcefully schooled his features as he turned around to the familiar voice from across the pool.

French was beaming at him, beckoning him over like an old friend.

He unclenched his jaw to give a small wave of acknowledgement, wary of what the hell she was up to.

She seemed to sense his reluctance, and strode in his direction with her acquaintance in tow, her long strides showing off the gown's high slit up to her thigh.

Gold held his ground, fingering the blade's handle in his coat.

"Jameson," she smiled, holding her arms out to him, kissing him on the cheek. "I was wondering when you would finally arrive."

He grinned politely, keeping his cover to the grave. "I lost track of the time it seems."

She brushed him off. "Hush. At least you're here now." She turned to the man, "May I introduce you to Mr. Midas. He's a gold exporter from Johannesburg. Mr. Midas? This is Mr. Bond. He's a recent acquaintance of mine."

"Pleasure," the austere, white-hair man said, tipping his head in greeting.

Gold mimicked his gesture. "Likewise."

"So what brings you to Antigua, Mr. Bond? Business or pleasure?"

Gold looked pointedly at French and then thinly smiled. "A bit of both, actually."

The man obviously missed the look, and nodded, toasting his glass in Gold's direction. "Good for you! That's the only way to conduct business, I say."

"And how do you know, ah, Ms. Francois?" he asked, gesturing to French, who was smiling sweetly beside Midas.

"Oh, why Ms. Francois is one of our biggest donors this evening. I just met her myself a few minutes ago. I simply had to introduce myself and tell her how grateful we all are for her generosity."

Gold's grip on his knife tightened as he looked over at French, who had the audacity to blush.

"Oh, it's nothing," she waved off the compliment. "I'm just happy to help."

Gold seethed at her response, knowing where she got her "donation". It was taking all of his power to keep his features neutral.

"Well, we appreciate it. Truly. It will go a long way to help these people."

French smiled, and Gold tried to nod back.

A waving woman from across the yard distracted the gold exporter. "Forgive me, but it seems that I'm needed elsewhere. Ms. Francois, we must talk later, and Mr. Bond, it's been a pleasure," he nodded, walking away.

French inched closer towards Gold, looking him up and down, approvingly. "I must say, you look good in a tux, Mr. Bond," she said, arching her eyebrow.

He swallowed his anger, biting his lip at her little game. "You look beautiful as well, Ms. Francois…especially for a drowned woman."

She smiled, posing with her leg out, the slit rising to new heights. "It's amazing what a little couture Armani can do." She stepped even closer, looking him dead in the eye. "I hope you like it, considering you bought it for me."

He clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the slit and her piercing blue eyes. "Am I to assume that your gift to this charity is courtesy of my generosity also?"

"Well, I certainly don't have a million laying around to just—Oh, wait, I do now—"

Gold struck out, gripping her arm in a vice-like grip, pulling her closer. "What is your game here, French? To bring me here to show off your little heist?" he growled.

French didn't even blink. "I don't remember inviting you down here, Gold. I believe that was_ your _idea." She tipped her head in dismissal and began to walk away.

Infuriated with her glib attitude, Gold wrenched her towards him, nearly throwing her off balance in his ferocity. With his other hand, he quickly slipped his cane over his arm, replacing it with his blade, pressing it up against her stomach. French quickly responded in kind, gripping his blade hand to counter his pressure with a strength that surprised him. "Where is my money?" he growled.

"Your _money_?" French laughed, as she subtly shook with effort, pushing the knife away from her. "That's what your concerned about? Your money? Not the fact that I've been ordered to kill you?"

"It doesn't look like you're succeeding in that right now, dearie," he spat, pressing the knife harder towards her.

She pushed back, grunting under her breath from the effort. "So this is your grand plan? To kill me in front of all these people?"

"I like to improvise."

A couple walked closely by, forcing them to step closer to conceal the knife, looking like lovers to a casual passerby.

"That's worked out great for you so far."

"I'm alive, aren't I dearie?"

She smiled. "Not for long."

He thrust the knife forward, but she deftly twisted in their embrace, turning them to reverse their positions. "Then why not do it now?"

"Not my style," she scowled, thrusting her foot forward and hooking it around his bad leg.

He could barely react, before she pulled her leg forward, causing his knee to collapse. _Bitch._ The knife and his cane clattered to the floor, and he grunted in pain as he fell to the ground. He quickly pushed himself back up, ignoring the horrified looks of the party-goers around him.

_There._ He spotted French running down the along the far side of the property, heading towards the ocean. With great effort, he pursued her, pocketing his knife and replacing it with his gun, taking the safety off. He sped up, trying to keep pace, while maintaining sight of her.

He finally reached the end of the property and could spot her faint footprints in the moonlight along the beach. Instead of following her course down along the shore, he turned abruptly left, to mirror her path from the higher plane of the thick grove that paralleled the beach. If he remembered correctly, the beach ended just ahead in a sharp peninsula where he could—

**_CRACK!_**

Gold ducked at the sound of the gunshot, getting cover behind a nearby tree, and returned fire. He looked around to see her muzzle fire, but it was nothing but blackness.

Chancing it, he skipped ahead to the next tree, keeping his gun up and ready.

**_CRACK!_**

That one was closer, nearly grazing his head. She was close.

"Nice aim, dearie," he called out, returning fire in the general direction of her shot.

French didn't respond though.

He could hear a faint rustling in the bushes to his right, towards the beach, and chanced a shot.

**_CRACK! _**Another shot rang out, closer, and in the opposite direction from where he was shooting at._ Fuck._ That was foolish. He'd all but given his position away. Warm blood ran freely down the side of his face. He reached up with his free hand to prod the wound; French had grazed his brow that time.

"I thought you were supposed to be good at this, Gold?" French called out faintly.

He returned fire in her direction, hearing a sharp gasp that he could only hope was a hit. _I _am_, dearie_, he silently answered.

He waited for her return fire when he heard a small object land in front of him. He instinctively ducked—**_BANG!_**

The flash-bang grenade went off in front of him, before he could roll completely away; the intense light instantly blinded him.

He tried to scramble up, but forced to the ground from behind, French using all of her weight to pin him down. He tried to sharply roll to the side, to gain the advantage, but she clenched her thighs tighter around his mid-section, pinning him hard to the ground, forcing sand in his mouth.

She must have gotten some in hers too, because he heard her spit off to the side, her gun's muzzle still hotly pressed to the back of his head.

"Alright, Gold, I'll make you a deal."

He panted, trying to focus his vision. "What?"

"Why did you do it?"

"Do _what_, dearie?" he coughed, her weight starting to be a problem. If he could only move his arm, he could nearly grab his knife…

"Why do they want you dead?"

He tried to laugh, shifting his weight, to get his hand closer to his pocket. "That's two questions, dearie."

French growled, pressing her gun harder against his head. "Tell. Me. Why."

"Why I did it, or why they want me dead?"

"Answer the goddamn question, Gold!"

_Ahh…yes!_ "How about you answer one for me, French? Why won't you kill me? You've had the chance. Why won't you take it? Take it now."

French paused, his question seemingly unsettling her, and he took the opportunity to seize the advantage, sharply twisting out of her grip, while deeply slicing her thigh with his knife.

"You _asshole_!" she screamed. "Stop cutting me with your fucking knife!"

**_CRACK!_**

He ducked, rolling behind a tree as her shot broke off a piece of bark to the right of his ear. "You never answered my question," he yelled back.

**_CRACK!_**

"Want to make a deal, dearie? I'll answer your question, if you answer mine."

**_CRACK!_**

Gold smiled, and listened for French to reload, but he heard nothing but silence. "Ladies, first, of course," he teasingly called out.

Silence.

He grabbed his spare pistol out of his ankle holster, and chanced a glance at French's position. She was kneeling behind a natural blind of trees nearby, gun up. He smiled, standing up from his position.

She stood up in return, pointing her gun directly at his chest. "Don't take one step closer or I'll—"

"You'll what? Shoot me?"

French narrowed her eyes, mere glints in the dark light. "Don't test me, Gold. I _will_ shoot you."

He cocked his head to the side, steadying his pistol at her chest in return. "With what, dearie?" he asked coyly, taking another step closer. "I believe you're out," he grinned, gesturing to her gun. "And you're spare is…over _there_, if I recall. Along with your little bag of tricks."

French, to her credit, held her ground.

"So, dearie, ready to make a deal?"

A faint glint of metal rushed at him and he instinctively ducked, but the impact hit him square in the temple. Gold instantly fell down hard. He tried to move, but blackness rushed up before his eyes, enveloping him into nothingness.

…

Pain.

A deep, throbbing, pain, radiating from his head.

That was all he could sense.

And the ocean? Waves, maybe?

He wasn't sure. It _sounded_ like the ocean, but it could very well just be the blood rushing in-and-out of his ears. He tried opening his eyes, but had to quickly shut them. Too bright.

Gold tried to move his hand, but it was too heavy. It felt as if it was full of lead, completely weighed down. No, he tried moving it again, not weighed down—_tied _down.

Instantly alert, Gold tried to slowly open his eyes, but it was still too painful. He tried his other arm, and each of his legs, but they were all tightly tied in opposite directions.

He closed his eyes again, trying to use his other senses. He tasted blood, not chemicals. That was good. So he had been knocked out…but he was where exactly?

His eyes were of no use, so he tried to feel. His head seemed to be propped up on a pillow, but he could only barely turn it, before the movement triggered an onslaught of pain. He stilled; nausea threatened to overwhelm him and he tried to calm his breath.

He tried another tactic, moving his hand, and he felt that it was soft. Sheets, maybe? _Yes._ So he was in a bed. Tied up…in a bed. If it weren't for the circumstances, this really wouldn't be that bad of a situation, he laughed to himself.

The sun felt slightly warm on his skin, so he assumed that it was morning now. Or afternoon. The lack of time was unnerving, but he dismissed the petty concern. He tried pulling on the ropes again—they wouldn't budge. His feet were curiously bare, but the rest of him seemed to be clothed, although the pain masked most of his sensations. Using one finger, he tried to reach the knot, trying to evaluate what sort of predicament he was in, but he couldn't reach the fastenings.

Gold tried squinting his eyes open once again, slowly getting them to adjust to the light. It was painful, but he persisted, rapidly blinking away the tears that formed in his eyes. Finally, he was able to see shapes in the whiteness. So he wasn't blind. _Thank God._

He tried to relax, looking around again. This time, he saw a black form in the corner. He focused in on it, trying to see who, or what, he was looking at, when it suddenly moved towards him, blocking the source of the light.

With the light blocked, Gold could see much better, and instantly groaned in recognition.

"So, _dearie_," the voice mocked. "Ready to make a deal?"


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Hi everyone! Thank you sooo much again for all of the reviews! Seriously, they're like little email presents that make my workday fly by :) Anyways, I hope you enjoy this next chapter!**

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There are over 7,200 nerve endings in a human foot.

An obscure fact to be sure. It's knowledge that one would only need to possess on the rare occasion that they were taking their the MCATs or answering a question on Jeopardy, but Belle knew the figure by heart, because at one time, not so long ago, she had felt every…single…one of them.

Langley didn't teach "torture" techniques. No, they were referred to as "enhanced interrogation" techniques. Gitmo and Abu Ghraib put a bright, media spotlight some of the more unsavory types of interrogation – water boarding, electrocution, stress positions, and the like—and while field operatives were taught all of these, and worse, they were also instructed in much more subtle, and reliable, forms of interrogation.

A form of which Belle now held in her hand—a small piece of sandpaper and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

She placed the two objects back on the small coffee table beside her, disgusted with herself for preparing for such an act. Belle absolutely detested using such methods, however, she conceded that in some cases they were required if information was needed quickly, especially it was a life-or-death situation. Gold regrettably fell into both categories. She could only hope that he would recognize her intent and let her off easy by just telling her the damn truth.

_Why can't he just tell me the truth? _she lamented_. Or why can't _anyone_ tell me the damn truth for that matter?_ She groaned, getting up from her seat in the corner of the bedroom to monitor Gold once again. He had been unconscious ever since she had given him a heavy dose of tranquilizer after she'd knocked him out with her gun.

Her leg still ached from the long walk; it had taken her nearly two hours to drag his unconscious body, along with her heavy bag of artillery, back to her rental. Her former couture gown was now in tattered shreds, barely recognizable after she had ripped nearly the entire dress to use as temporary bandages for their respective injuries, hers being the worse of the two. She was really starting to _hate _that damn knife of his. Her leg wound was definitely going to require some form staples or sutures; the temporary butterfly bandages she had used weren't going to cut it. She was just thankful he hadn't hit an artery.

Just thinking about their fight got her blood pressure rising again. She looked down at her nemesis lying peacefully in the bed and felt an urge to just shake the truth out of him—was he guilty or not? Did he kill Black or not? Why did he all but try to get caught? It was all so frustrating. Ingrained in her, as much as any of her father's sayings, was the Ranger Creed though; part of which was the promise that she would _never_ fail her comrades. Killing Gold without being 100% sure would be just that—failing him. She couldn't and _wouldn't_ kill an innocent fellow operative, until her knew the truth.

Belle looked down at her watch: 11:34 a.m. _Christ, just wake up already, Gold._ She was exhausted, having been awake for nearly twenty-eight hours straight now. In fact, she was running on barely any sleep at all. Ever since she had discovered the bugged hard drive on the way to Istanbul, she had been going non-stop trying to track the man himself down, determined not to let him get away again.

She had figured that if she couldn't find his home, taking all of his money might do the trick to draw him out of his hidey-hole. She could never have known how obsessed the man was about it; she had expected irritation at the inconvenience, not the pure rage she had seen in his eyes. It had taken all of her nerve to keep up her façade of disinterested confidence at the party. Really, if it hadn't been for her lucky throw, hitting him with her gun, he might have killed her last night.

As if on cue, Gold stirred and tried to open his eyes, quickly shutting them. _Yeah, that had to be painful_. The aftereffects of a flash-bang could last for days, and the bed she had tied him was in the direct path of the sun's harsh rays. She continued to quietly watch him, easing back to her original spot in the corner, unsure of what his reaction would be when he realized that he was tied up—probably not good—so she wanted to wait out the initial thrashing.

Curiously, Gold did none of that; instead, he just slightly moved his head and hands, getting his bearings. His little finger tried to undo one of the fastenings, but Belle's knot was fastened too far down on his wrist for him to get any purchase on it.

Finally, he tried opening his eyes again, squinting in the sunlight like a newborn babe. He turned his head and stared in her direction, making Belle quickly realize that he couldn't see her; he simply stared out blankly, showing no sign of recognition. A flash of concern shot through her, scared that she might have given him a severe concussion, but then he blinked and his expression became clearer.

Belle decided that enough was enough, and walked over to see how he was. The dried blood, covering the side of his head, needed attending to, she noted, but then her leg seized in pain again and her compassion quickly left her. She reached down, grimacing, trying to inspect if the cut had reopened again. When she glanced down at her hand, a thin layer of blood covered her fingers; her pants had become completely soaked through. Hopefully this interrogation didn't last long, because she needed to get to a doctor…and soon.

As she rounded the bed, she watched as Gold tried to focus his eyes at her, blinking, and then widening in recognition. _Hello, Gold_, she thought, smugly smiling to herself. "So, _dearie_, ready to make a deal?" she asked, eagerly throwing his words back at him.

Gold closed his eyes again, and then slowly opened them, a familiar grin spreading across his face. "Ahh dearie, how did you know that this was my second favorite way to wake up?"

"I like to be accommodating."

"Well, in that case, shall you join me for my favorite way? I promise that you'll enjoy it too."

_Smug bastard._ Belle edged closer to the side of the bed, pressing her hand lightly on his injured knee and then leaned harder, putting her weight into it, eliciting a gasp of pain from Gold. "I think that this will have to suffice for now."

"If you insist."

"I do."

Gold was now panting from the pain of the pressure on his knee, his chest quickly rising and falling.

"Now, Gold, all I want you to do is just answer some questions for me. Okay? That's it."

Gold grimaced, barking out a dry laugh. "Oh, that's all? I thought that you were going to kill me. My mistake."

Belle angrily gripped his knee, digging her fingers in a vice grip around it, causing Gold to arch his back to try and escape the pain. She stepped back, composing herself, and allowed him to catch his breath. He looked dangerously pale from the pain. "Look, Gold, I'm giving you a chance here to tell me the truth; to tell me what the hell is going on here."

"Fine. I'll tell you what's going on, dearie…" he trailed off, forcing Belle to step closer to hear him. "I'm strapped to a bed, where a beautiful, yet seriously misguided, agent is having some second thoughts about killing me."

"Goddamn you, Gold!" she yelled. "I'm trying to help you here, if you haven't gotten the fucking hint yet, okay? So how about you start from the beginning and you tell me why you just decided out of the blue to have someone sent to kill you."

Gold simply stared at her, finally quirking his brow. "No."

"No?"

"No," he said flatly.

"Screw you, Gold."

Gold smiled, shrugging. "Well, I _am_ already in your bed. We could just—"

Belle slapped him as hard as she could across the side of his head with her open palm; Gold howled in pain, his right arm instinctively pulling hard at his tethers, trying to cup his head.

_Target, he's a target,_ she kept repeating to herself. She was better than this. She wouldn't let her emotions get the best of her. Determined in what she had to do, Belle steeled herself and walked over to the small coffee table, picking up her two items, hating him for forcing her into this.

Gold's half-lidded eyes opened wide in recognition at the objects in her hand, undoubtedly due to his own use of the technique.

"I'm going to ask you again, nicely, Gold, and then it's not going to be as pleasant." She waited for him to acknowledge her, but he kept his eyes unyielding glued to her, seemingly daring her to do it. "What is going on here? What are you not telling me?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

He looked at her, unblinking, and then sneered, "No."

_Goddamnit, Gold! _ Without replying, she walked over to his first foot, choosing the middle toe to spare him the agony of walking on a ruined big toe if he came to his senses and talked. She looked at him once more, but he just glared back at her, so she got to work, slowly rubbing the sandpaper back and forth across the toe. She knew from experience that the effect wasn't immediate, but within seconds little beads of blood began blooming and Gold's leg jerked hard against the ties, trying to get away from the hellacious sensation.

"Ahh, dearie, is that all? I thought that you were going to really—" He stopped, choking on his words, as Belle poured the alcohol on the open wound. His chest heaved, and his teeth audibly clenched as he tried to stifle a scream.

She waited until he relaxed again, although she knew he would still be in agony. "Why won't you tell me the truth, Gold? What aren't you telling me? Why did you try and get caught?"

"You have a lot of questions, French," he forced out through his clenched teeth.

"Pick one, then."

He took a breath, bracing himself. "No."

"Fine." _Stubborn bastard._ She took a breath of her own, distancing herself from the situation, and started the process again on his second toe. This time, he was unable to hold back his yell, and screamed as she poured the alcohol onto the red digit.

He laughed, a wheezy, hysterical sound. "Really getting your technique down now, eh, dearie?"

Her resolve broke, and she jumped up to the head of the bed, forcefully pinning his shoulders to the bed. She stared at him, forcing him to meet her gaze, her face only inches from his. "_Look_ at me, Gold. I'm the only friend you have right now, because everyone they send after me is going to kill you right on the spot. So how about you stop being a fucking coward and just tell me what the hell is going on!" she yelled at him, her heaving chest mirroring his own.

He barely flinched at her little tirade, simply staring at her, studying her face for a long moment. "Why are you so convinced that I'm innocent?"

"Because you're _smart_, Gold. You've got a file a mile thick telling me that you're this goddamn legend, so let's just say that I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. So help me out here, or else I _will _complete what I've been sent here to do."

He swallowed, still staring deeply into her eyes. "This isn't your fight, French," he whispered, his tone deathly serious.

"It is now. And I'm the only thing between you and a bullet, so talk. Now."

"I'm not afraid of death, dearie," he smiled, although it resembled more of a snarl.

"So this is you going out in the blaze of glory, then? Seems pretty pathetic to me, taking the easy way out."

"Maybe I'm just guilty."

"Guilty people don't try and get caught, Gold!" she spat, exasperated with his incessant badgering. She knew that she was crossing a line, that she shouldn't be giving him these chances to explain himself. Hell, if it had been anyone else assigned this mission, Gold would've been dead and buried days ago, but she couldn't do it. She couldn't kill an innocent man, _especially _not an innocent colleague, no matter how deranged they were acting.

She glanced down at the bloody strip of sandpaper in her hand, shaking her head in disgust. It was no use. Gold would never talk. She sighed, running a hand through her hair, and stepped away from the bed, walking toward the door.

"Spencer said that you were a rare vintage," Gold called out behind her, his voice hoarse, causing her to stop. "I have to say, I expected more."

A sharp pang of anger shot through Belle, and she had to forcibly still herself to not get sucked in to his taunting. She bit her lip, closing her eyes, not giving in to turning around. "So did I," she replied, opening the bedroom door and slamming it behind her.

…

"Well, what does he look like?"

"I don't know. I mean…he's tall, has light brown hair, nice eyes. He makes me laugh; we like the same books. He works in your department though, so he's gone a lot, and we're not supposed to date because technically we're coworkers and there's that SOC rule—"

"But do you like him?"

"Oh, yes! He's well…perfect. I'm seeing him again tonight…How's the suturing going by the way, because if it's—"

"Blanchard," Belle grimaced, "Date. Details. Now, please! I can't do this without a distraction."

"Okay, okay…where was I?"

"He asked you out on a second date," Belle gasped, pulling another stitch along her cut.

"Right. So, last night he took me out to nice restaurant, and tonight I don't know what we're doing. He says that it's a surprise and…French, are you _sure_ that you don't need me to talk you through this, or get Whale on the line to help you?"

"No, I'm fine. I can do this. Just keep talking please."

"Okay, I'm just worried about you, so if you need something, just say 'banana' or—"

"Mary!" Belle yelled into the phone lying on the counter, pausing as she drew the needle through her skin.

Her friend grunted her displeasure with the situation, but mercifully rambled on about her newest "Prince Charming." Belle's concentration on her friend's voice started to waver as she tried to throw her second knot. Getting stitches was one thing, but she was quickly discovering that performing them on yourself was a whole other animal. _Damn Gold and his knife_, she cursed, finishing the knot.

After she had left Gold's room, Belle's priorities had changed drastically when she realized that her wound had completely reopened and couldn't be ignored any longer. Gold's interrogation would simply have to wait. Without having a reliable contact in the area to find her a trustworthy doctor, as she had in Istanbul, she quickly came to the disturbing conclusion that she was going to have to do the stitches herself.

Thankfully, Gold's knife had cut straight and clean across her leg, and didn't leave any ragged tears for her to attend to. With her basic knowledge of field surgery, if it had been anything worse she would've been screwed. Once again, she had Jefferson to thank for planning ahead; he had included a complete suture kit in the bag he had given her, along with ample supply of first aid and three syringes full of lidocaine.

The initial numbing syringe was the worst, having to inject directly into the skin by the cut. The pain became so excruciating that she thought that she was going to pass out, hence her call to Blanchard. Blanchard could be trusted not only for her discretion, but also for having some sort of story to distract her with. Plus, her encrypted phone's GPS was turned off, hiding her location.

_Okay…three more…you can do this…_

She pulled the needle through again, the sensation of the needle, sans the pain, making her grimace in disgust.

"Are you still doing okay, French?"

Belle breathed, pulling the stitch tight. "Almost finished."

"Have I told you that you're my hero?"

Belle laughed, causing her to stop her movements so she could continue. "Stop. I'm going to mess up and then I'm going to have to blame my Frankenstein leg on you."

Mary laughed on the other end. "I'm sorry!"

_Almost….there!_ "Finished," she announced, tying off the last stitch with a relieved sigh.

"Yay!" her friend cheered excitedly on the other side.

She reached into Jefferson's kit and finished the dressing: wiping the newly sutured wound with an antiseptic solution and applying the cloth dressing

"So have you had time to read the new files that I sent you yet?"

"Black's file?"

"No, the files on Gold. I found some recent CX-raw intelligence reports, mentioning an agent who I think is Gold, but his name was blacked out. In all the official reports though, all mention of this agent was doctored out."

Belle frowned. "What do you think that it means?"

"Well, whoever went to the trouble to edit these documents had to be high up—really high up."

"Mills?"

Blanchard huffed. "Most likely." No love was lost between the liaison intelligence officer and the SOC Chief to say the least. "Other reports were the same—all dealing with someone who sounds suspiciously like Gold. But that's not the most interesting part."

"What did you find?"

"Black's file? The one that I sent you a couple days ago? There's a second file—the _original_ file. I sent you the copy that was in the official records. The original file was deleted. I just happened upon it when I was searching for some other files, which in turn made me double-check Gold's other files. I'm still working on it. Thank goodness I found Black's file. It was still on some back server space that hadn't been overwritten yet. I have a feeling that there may be more. But anyways, in the original report detailing Black's death, it never mentions Gold—at all."

A thought came to Belle. "Do you think Gold went in and deleted his files himself?"

"I doubt it. It would be nearly impossible to get in the system."

"He broke into M6—I got an entire flash drive full of doctored M6 observation reports."

"And Gold was behind it?"

"Yep."

"Hmm…well, it still couldn't have been him. These reports were signed."

"By who?"

"Mills."

Belle's mind began whirling, trying to put all the pieces together. "Mary, I need a favor—"

"Anything."

"I need you to look into Mills. I think she's hiding something about Gold and I don't know what. Anything you can find that looks suspicious, especially around the time that Gold was black-listed. Can you do that without her knowing?"

"Of course," Mary said. Belle could hear the smile in her voice.

"I can't tell you how much I owe you."

"Hush. I'd do anything for you. How's the search for the man himself going? Sorry about that false lead. I should have warned you earlier."

"It's fine. I was impulsive and left without checking with you first."

"So do you have a lead on him now?"

Belle smirked to herself, thinking of the man himself tied in the bedroom nearby. "Still looking. I think he's tapped into our SIGINT feed though; he's known every move I made."

"Well, the guys down in IMINT just let me know that they might have found a partial photo identification of him. It's from an ATM in Antigua of all places though—at some bank down there. They tell me that it's most likely not him, but I'll let you know if they find anything to the contrary. I've made it a top priority."

"Thanks," Belle forced, suddenly nervous about Blanchard discovering her whereabouts before she could get the truth out of Gold herself.

Suddenly, her perimeter motion detector beeped. _Someone is here._

"Mary, I gotta go."

"Stay safe," her friend signed off, ending the call.

Instantly alert, Belle crouched behind the kitchen island where she was tending to her wound, and grabbed her Sig out of her nearby bag. The monitor on her phone app showed a person rounding the side of opposite side of the house, moving slowly, much too slowly to be a civilian.

Taking the safety off her gun, she edged forward, gun up, and pressed her body against the wall, listening for any sounds or movement inside the house. It was deathly silent though, other than the sea quietly rumbling in the distance.

The open, one-story floor plan gave her little cover as most of the walls had been replaced with pillars to cater to the beachfront view. In addition, the mansion's unique "T" shape, with its separate buildings for each room, each connected by a veranda or an open courtyard, gave her little to no cover. In order to intercept the target, Belle would have to cross through a large, empty space to the outside pool area, and then slip around the side of the detached bedroom. It was too risky and provided a large target area for anyone with a decent aim.

She looked down at her phone again. The target was still moving; he had nearly reached the master bedroom where she had Gold tied up in. If he was trying to rescue Gold…_ Shit._

Belle sprinted, keeping low, her newly stitched leg burning from the effort. She kept her gun forward, sweeping around each corner. _Clear. Clear._

The target suddenly stopped, and Belle froze, crouching in a bush along the pool area, nearly to the master bedroom. From here she could see a dark head of hair in a dark shirt, but little else. His back was turned to her.

She inched forward slowly so she wouldn't rustle the bushes and attract his attention. It was only then that she realized that she was still only clothed in her t-shirt and underwear from her self-surgery, but quickly dismissed the petty concern, focusing in on her target.

The dark-haired man reached down, and Belle took the opportunity to take another step forward, reaching a tree, nearly to the master's door. The man was now close enough that Belle could reach him in two steps. She pressed up against the tree in wait, her heart beat pounding in her chest.

She waited, muscles tense and ready to react. _Come on, let's go._ Without a visual, she silently reached for her phone to check on the perimeter tracker.

"Hello?" a thickly accented voice called out.

Belle instantly froze; holding her breath, gun ready.

"Yes, this is Victor. I am at the L'Acqua villa and there is no one by the pool area. Am I supposed to deliver the room service to the bedroom or the kitchen?"

Belle nearly laughed with relief. _Room service?_ Still wary though, she placed the gun by the side of the tree, so she would be within arm's reach of it. With her gun in position, she casually stepped around the tree, softly coughing to show her presence.

"Hello?"

The man jumped back in surprise. "Miss, I am so sorry. I did not see you!" he hurriedly apologized, jarring his cart full of metal-covered plates of food in the process. He suddenly glanced down, noticing her state of undress and averted his gaze, his face instantly blazing crimson.

"I'm sorry, I was just headed to my room. I forgot that we ordered room service."

The waiter gave a wave. "It's no problem, ma'am. I was trying not to disturb you."

"It's fine," she smiled, reassuringly. "Is there something you need me to sign? I can bring it in."

"Uh…yes. Yes," he stammered, holding out a leather billfold, eyes down.

Belle looked at the bill—$630 of food. _Seriously, Gold_? Of course it had been him. She quickly signed her name and handed the bill back to the grateful waiter, who nearly ran out of the villa. Belle tracked his progress via her phone until it was clear and she was sure that no one else was on the property.

She gritted her jaw, eager to resume her "conversation" with Gold now that he had given her that little, unnecessary scare. Without preamble, she opened the door, wheeling in the cart.

"Ahh…Agent French. I was worried that you had forgotten about me," Gold called out from down the hallway, his teasing brogue echoing down the hall.

She rolled her eyes, pushing the cart into his room. Somehow, he had untied one of his hands. The tipped over hotel phone was proof enough of what he did.

He looked over at her smirking, but then his face went slack in shock, looking down at her bare legs. He quickly recovered, swallowing hard. "I hope I wasn't interrupting something."

Belle, to her chagrin, blushed, instantly self-conscious at her state of undress. "I was fixing what you did last night, until your little stunt side-tracked me." She spotted a white robe in the nearby closet, and she wrapped herself it in, eliciting a disappointed sigh from Gold. She glared back at him, but he simply smirked, clearly delighted with the circumstances.

"I apologize."

_What?_ Belle frowned.

He smugly raised his eyebrow, tipping his head. "For damaging those lovely legs of yours, of course. I should be shot immediately."

"Don't tempt me." Belle glared at him, but he simply grinned back, utterly pleased with himself. "So what did you order, Gold?"

"What?" he asked, taken aback for a second.

She gestured to the cart. "$600 dollars of room service and no wine?"

"They forgot the wine? Gads. One minute, dearie, I'll fix this," he said, flailing pathetically towards the fallen phone.

Belle snickered, despite herself. He instantly noticed and smiled.

"Ahh…so she does smile."

Belle instantly forced the smile from her face. Another thought came to her and she left the room to retrieve her bag.

Inside, she removed the metal and explosives detector, along with her device to find bugs. Both, thanks to Jefferson's handiwork, were cleverly disguised as a pen and makeup compact. She noticed Gold carefully observe her, craning his neck to see what she was doing, but he remained silent. Surprisingly, the cart was clear.

"Surely, I wouldn't blow myself up."

She ignored him, stepping into the hallway, away from Gold's mocking gaze and donned her tact suit and boots from her bag, wincing as it tightly brushed against her two wounds.

"I preferred your other look," Gold complained, as she walked back in.

She ignored him. "We need to talk, Gold."

He nodded. "Indeed."

"Are you going to give me answers this time?"

"Can you ask me in that lovely robe of yours?"

"No."

He sighed, "Well, I don't know then."

"Why is Mills forging your case reports?"

This gave him a start, and his careful façade broke for a brief moment, revealing an expression of pure hatred. "I don't know," he said in a clipped tone.

"You were black-listed after killing Agent Black, but that original file has been tampered with."

"That's...interesting."

She could tell that she was hitting a nerve, his pulse point in his forehead visibly pounding. "Did you kill her?"

"Yes."

Belle was taken aback at his matter-of-fact response, her theory crashing down on her. "You killed Maleficent Black?"

Gold's eyes narrowed, steeled determination showing though. "I did, indeed."

"Why?"

"Let's not talk about intent, dearie. Intent is meaningless."

"Intent is _everything_," Belle shot back, drawing a satisfied smirk from Gold.

Gold splayed his hands to the side. "What more would you have me say?"

"Why did you do it?"

"Disappointed that I am in fact the monster they all say I am?"

"I asked you why you did it."

"It was necessary, so I killed her. And I _enjoyed_ it," he drawled out menacingly.

Belle turned away, trying not to let her frustration show.

"Are you going to kill me now, dearie?"

"No," she said, staring out the window.

"No?"

She bit her lip, shaking her head. "No."

"And why not?"

"Because you're lying."

"No, I assure you dearie, I killed Maleficent Black. Sliced her throat open with that same knife you came into contact with last night, in fact."

Belle grinned, leaning closer to him, just out of his reach. "Liar," she whispered, staring hard into his gold-flecked eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"The weapon was found at the scene, so either you're lying or there's more to this story that you're not telling me. So talk."

"Maybe it's exactly what it looks like. Maybe you just don't want to kill me."

"I don't kill innocent people."

Gold huffed. "Has anyone told you that you have an odd definition of innocence, Agent French?"

"Has anyone told you that you're one stubborn sonofabitch, Agent Gold?"

"Possibly. It's been a while since I had a meaningful conversation with anyone though."

"Well, I'm listening, so how about you start talking?"

He smirked, knowingly. "Or what? You're going to file my toes down again? Or do I have something more creative to look forward to?" He paused, smirking, before continuing, "Dearie, you seem more than capable to connect the dots yourself. Why don't you just look at your evidence and _figure it out_?"

Belle seethed, tempted to sand his toes again to make him talk. His free hand was going to be a problem though, and one that she needed to remedy immediately. Lame or not, Gold was extremely dangerous, and she couldn't continue any sort of interrogation without him secured.

"Fine. I'll make you a deal, Gold. You let me tie you back up and I'll untie your leg." She had noticed how he kept trying to push himself down to relieve the pain.

He turned his head to the side, narrowing his eyes, giving her a long, evaluative glance. "Trying a new tactic, dearie? Hmm...well how about this, I'll let you tie me back up, and then you'll have to owe me a favor."

"No."

"Then I'll keep my hand free, thank you."

Belle figured that he'd say that. She walked over to his bed, smiling, and plunged the tranquilizer she had hidden in her pocket into his thigh. "No. You won't."

Gold's eyes widened, and then glazed over, struggling to maintain consciousness, finally falling closed, his body going slack.

_God, he was a stubborn man!_ Belle huffed, discarding the empty syringe in the trashcan. She waited a few minutes before walking over to Gold, squeezing his knee hard to ensure that he was indeed unconscious. The act made her feel slightly guilty as she retied each of his hands to the bedposts with three twist ties this time, instead of the ties she had used before. Unconscious, dressed in his bloodstained tuxedo shirt and pants, Gold looked rather sad in his current state. She sighed, fighting the urge to tend to him, and walked back to her post in the corner to wait for him to come-to.

It was nearly 2:00 p.m. now. With the amount of sedative she just gave him, Gold could be asleep for hours. Belle yawned just thinking of it, longingly looking at her bottle of Provigil that she had in her bag. She quickly did the math and had to dismiss the tempting drug. She had already been up for over thirty hours straight; she couldn't take a pill to that could keep her up for another forty.

_Figure it out. _His mocking words made her seethe with anger, as if she hadn't tried to already. He could just as easily stop being a bastard and tell her the truth. She growled in irritation as she opened up her phone, scrolling through her encrypted emails to read the files Mary had sent over. Unfortunately, most of them weren't too enlightening, except for the obvious fact that they had been doctored. However, going through them a third time, slower this time, a thought came to Belle and she texted Mary to check into it.

Next, she went over the files on Gold she already read again. She tried jotting down notes to make a timeline, to try and make some sense of it, but it only made her head ache. Nothing, or anything could be the smoking gun and she just couldn't see it. She felt as if she was missing the one piece to tie it all together.

The grandfather clock in the other room gonged with the passing of the hour. Belle groaned in frustration, putting aside her phone, and found herself staring at Gold and his damn bloody toes. He'd still be out for another couple hours at least. _Ahh, fuck it_, she thought, fixating on his damaged feet. She needed _something _to do to pass the time if she was going to stay awake.

Returning to the kitchen to retrieve her med-kit, Belle also grabbed some washcloths and a couple bowls for the water. She started on the toes, injecting one of her lidocaine syringes in each before she cleaned them with water and anti-bacterial solution. She then cut a foam disc, taping it on the toe, making a cushion to relieve the discomfort. Finally, she carefully wrapped each of the toes individually. He'd still be lame on the foot for days, but at least the lidocaine would give him temporary relief.

She eased around the bed to his knee, curious. Thankfully his pants were slack, clearly someone else's suit he'd stolen while on the island, and she easily rolled up the pant leg to expose his knee. _My god._

Belle's jaw dropped as she viewed the damage. His knee was barely recognizable from all of the swelling and bruising. Grotesque bands of scar tissue puckered the discolored tissue in abnormal ways. This was far and beyond what she had expected; it was amazing that he was able to walk, let alone pursue her as he had in the past few days.

She gently prodded the knee, trying to determine if anything was broken with her rudimentary medical knowledge from treating injuries in the field during her time as a Ranger. It was simply too swollen to determine anything at all, so she once again returned to the kitchen, retrieving ice, which she placed in a plastic bag that she found in one of the drawers.

Inwardly cursing herself for officially crossing the line and becoming the worse operative ever, she loosened the injured leg's tie, and placed a pillow underneath it, elevating it.

Task completed, Belle stepped back, looking at her prisoner, turned patient, and felt sickening feeling of guilt. She shouldn't be doing this. This was so beyond crossing the line it was ridiculous. This would get her fired. Tending to a man she was ordered to kill? Christ, Mills would have her head on a platter.

However, Mills wasn't here, she reminded herself, and plus, Mills was a cold-hearted bitch anyways. Swallowing her insecurity, she gathered her supplies and moved to the head of the bed.

The blue strip of cloth from her dress was still tied around Gold's forehead, slipping down at an angle to cover a large, dark brown bloodstain to the right of his eye. She carefully removed it, examining the wound. The bullet had left a long, inch-wide strip of exposed flesh, but it wasn't deep enough to warrant stitches, for which Belle was thankful, having already met her quota for stitching today.

She carefully dipped a clean washcloth into the water, gently washing his face to remove the dried blood. It was surreal experience after chasing this man halfway across the world, only now to be tending to his wounds like a nursemaid. He had a handsome face, Belle thought, noting the deep lines that etched across his forehead as she stroked his hair out of his eyes. His hair was flecked with grey, but in a sophisticated way, and surprisingly soft.

Belle stopped, recoiling her hand at the thought, suddenly all too conscious of the fact that Gold could wake up at any moment. She quickly finished dressing the wound, and removed the ice pack from his knee, wrapping it tightly with a compression bandage.

Exhausted, Belle sat back in her chair, trying not to stare at Gold lying in the bed. For a moment she wanted to remove the bandages, to remove any trace that she had tended to him while he was asleep, but stopped herself. What's done is done, and she could deal with Gold's teasing later.

The ocean's rhythmic, quiet pounding soon began lulling her to sleep. An idea came to her and she found the small motion detector device in her bag, and set it next to Gold's nightstand. She could get a small nap in while his drug continued to do its work. And if anything happened, the detector would awaken her.

Satisfied, Belle closed her heavy eyes. _Just a quick nap_, she thought, drifting off into the blackness.

…

_**Beep. Beep. **_

Belle shot up out of the chair into pitch darkness. Instantly alert, she quickly looked around the room, her hand grasping for her Sig holstered on her hip.

_**Beep. Beep.**_

She looked down, her illuminated phone lighting up with another text. _Christ_, she swore, her heart still pounding in her chest. She silenced the phone, and switched on the nearby light, instantly revealing Gold, wide-awake, staring at her. In her momentary grogginess and confusion, she had forgotten about him and his piercing gaze gave her a fright.

She tried to ignore him, instead reading her phone, noting the time—9:36 p.m. The texts were from Blanchard, confirming, or rather, adding to her suspicion.

_Time to get to work._ She had slept for too long, and she inwardly cursed her foolishness. She pulled out her modified tablet PC from her bag, standard SOC issue, with a modified retina camera. It was portable, discreet, and most importantly, in this case, able to be used as a highly accurate lie detector.

Gold remained unnerving quiet as she set the system up. He no longer had his familiar, mocking expression; instead he quietly followed her with his eyes. Belle pulled a chair close to the bed, pointing the tablet at Gold's face. The Silent Talker program in the tablet analyzed nonverbal behavior in the forms of micro-gestures, which could be determined if the subject was lying or not within 85% accuracy, which for Belle, was good enough for now.

"What was Operation Taos?" she asked, breaking the uneasy silence, not needing to ask base questions with this system.

Gold simply narrowed his eyes though at her question, remaining silent.

"The last operation you worked—Taos." Mary had texted Belle the old operation name of the operation Gold had worked with Black; a name that had been suspiciously replaced with "Taos" in the "newer" report.

He continued stare her down.

"What? So now you won't say anything? Fine…" she sighed, turning away.

"You tended to my wounds," he quietly replied, barely audible.

Belle turned back around. Gold's brow was furrowed in confusion. "Yes," she said flatly.

"Why?"

"I…I don't know. Can you just tell me what Taos was about?"

He frowned, looking down at his leg.

"It's a compression wrap. It'll help with the swelling," she explained, unsure why she felt the need to tell him. "Gold," she addressed again; angry that he was getting her sidetracked and pointed the tablet back at him. "It started because of Taos, right? But it wasn't called Operation Taos; it was called something else. You were doing something with Black and Mills covered it up, burning you. That's why she wants you dead."

"No," he quietly replied.

"What—"

He shook his head, interrupting her. "That's not why she wanted me dead. She's wanted me dead long before then. Taos was simply her first opportunity."

The wheels in Belle's head turned furiously, his statement coming back 82% accurate. "She sent Black after you," she said, more to herself as the piece fell in place.

He kept his face neutral, not responding, but Belle continued.

"But then, if you knew she was trying to kill you, why try and get caught? Why expose yourself to her? Hell, why does she want you dead in the first place? Can't you at least tell me that?"

"No."

"Why not?" she asked, getting angry once again at his dodging.

He didn't respond.

"Fine. We'll play this game," she said, putting the tablet down to grab her phone, knowing immediately how to make him talk. "Now I realize that you've been out of the game for a while, so you might not have one of these, but this is an iPhone, or well, an iCanDoEverything phone in this case. And if I do this," she said, scanning her iris, and pressing her finger to the screen, "I now have access to all of your money. Fascinating isn't it?"

Gold clenched his teeth, his jaw visibly tightening.

"Now, if I simply click here, on 'transfers,' I can send your money anywhere I want," she smiled, gesturing to her phone. "For instance, I can donate some more of your money to any cause I like. How about…hmm…let's see…St. Jude's? It's a children's hospital in the US. You had a child, right, Gold? You'll like this."

She smiled, patronizingly; Gold looked as if he was about to jump out of the bed and kill her.

"And, see I just wait and then…there we go! St. Jude's now has a pending donation of five million dollars."

"That's cute, dearie."

"Want me to do it again? Let's see…umm…the Red Cross? They always need money—"

"What do you _want _from me?"

"I want the truth."

"I've told you the truth."

Belle rolled her neck, popping it. _Fine. _"Why did you come out of hiding after eight years?" she asked, placing her tablet back up.

"I didn't," he growled, menacingly. "I believe one of your people snapped a photo of me. Pity. And now, I have your lovely company."

She picked up her phone, pretending to transfer his money once again, casting a glare in his direction.

"Wait—fine."

She ignored him, continuing to scroll through his accounts, otherwise known as her text messages.

"Malus."

"What?"

He grimaced, as if forcing the words from his lips. "Malus. Does that mean anything to you?"

Belle narrowed her eyes, trying to remember any intelligence that had come through, but coming up blank. "No. Why? Who's Malus?"

"Not who, dearie—_what_. It's an operation that from what I can tell will have catastrophic consequences against the US."

"When is this supposed to happen?" she asked, furiously texting Mary Blanchard to find out anything and everything related to "Malus."

"Your little friend won't help you," he said, gesturing to her phone. "I've only heard this word whispered in conversations with my new circle of acquaintances, shall we say."

"So what, you had a change of heart and decided to come clean and tell everyone about this plan?"

"Not exactly." He bunched his nose. "_You _weren't part of my plan. I was expecting someone else."

"Mills?" she guessed.

He softly snorted, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. "Precisely."

"Why her?"

"Let's just say that in these same whispers, her name might have been mentioned once or twice."

"They're going to take out Mills?"

He laughed, shaking his head. "No, dearie. Quite the opposite."

Belle's head was swimming. "What?"

"Shocked, dearie, that your dear leader might less than unsavory aspirations?"

"No," she said, earning a chuckle from Gold. It didn't make sense though. "But why, to what end? How was her name mentioned?"

"Quite prominently, actually."

"But what is it about? What is Malus?"

"Do I look like an intelligence analyst, dearie? I don't know. That's why I asked you. But I do know that it's been in the works for several years now. And from what I know of our dear Director, it would put her in a unique position to execute their plans."

"You're talking like Mills is a terrorist. This is the director of the SOC, you're talking about."

"Who happens to be a deep KGB agent at that. Or SVC—whatever the hell they're calling themselves these days."

Belle held out a hand, laughing. "Okay, Gold. That's great, really. You actually had me going there for a minute. Helluva story though, I have to say…A KGB agent, why not?"

"You don't believe me, dearie?"

"No, I don't!"

"Point your little lie detector at me if you're such a non-believer."

"What…why…how do you…?" her thoughts became jumbled as she positioned the tablet up again.

He cocked his head to the side, knowingly. "Because_ I_ was the one who recruited her, when she was then known as Regina Milyukov. I was under the impression that she wanted to leave, and come to a new land, so I created a new cover for her and brought her over. It seems that I was mistaken."

_80% accurate._ "So what, this whole reappearance was just to correct a big fuck-up on your part?"

He wrinkled his nose, tilting his head side-to-side. "I guess that's a fairly good summation of it."

"What proof do you have of this?"

"None."

"What am I supposed to do with this, Gold, without any evidence?"

"You could just let me go."

Belle smiled at his quip, "Oh, that's a great idea! Sure, I'll just let you go."

"Seems like a splendid idea to me," he grinned back.

"I'd find you."

"I know," he quietly admitted, suddenly serious.

Their gazes met and held for a long moment, until Belle coughed, shaking her head, reminding herself that she was supposed to be _killing _this man, not listening to his conspiracy theories, not matter what her machine said.

"What am I supposed to do, Gold? I can't go to anyone with these rumors." She went and sat back in her chair, suddenly exhausted despite her long nap.

He simply shrugged his head.

"_Fuck_," she groaned, lowering her head in her hands, feeling hopelessly stuck.

_**Buzz! Buzz!**_

Startled by the sharp noise from her phone, she reached over to grab it. The app showed two people breaching the estate's perimeter. Her nerves instantly went on alert, but then calmed, remembering Gold's earlier stunt. "More room service, Gold?"

He shook his head, confused.

"I'll be back," she announced, grabbing her gun, and holstering her two spare clips in her utility belt.

Silently, she opened one of the rear windows near Gold's bed, looking at her phone to determine the intruders' location. They were entering off the south side, near the beach. Close, and moving fast.

Night blanketed the estate, with the moon only providing a glimmer of light to show the faint outline of the buildings and foliage. Too dark to see, but good cover to move around. She slipped on her night vision glasses, instantly bathing the landscape in bright green tones.

Her device buzzed again, showing two more intruders entering from the front of the house. _They're not fucking room service that was for sure_. She pressed her body against the wall, taking long, smooth strides towards the corner of the building to find a good blind to shoot from.

_Front or back? Front or back?_ Both groups were closing in equally fast, giving her little time to decide. A red laser, dotting the wall ahead of her, made the decision for her.

_**Pop!**_

Belle ducked and rolled at the missed shot, sprinting hard in the opposite direction, down the cement path lining the property. She heard a pair of heavy boot steps gaining on her, so she used all of her strength to immediately stop and roll, jumping up into a shooting stance, immediately firing two shots into her pursuer.

The man dropped, her headshot dealing the fatal blow. Her sudden change in direction had caught him unawares.

2 down, she thought, 8 more, counting her shots.

While her attacker had been equipped with silencers, her shots rang out loud and true, exposing her position.

She looked down at her monitor—_shit!_ She ran hard, flinging herself through Gold's open bedroom window, which was only twenty feet from where she dropped her first man. She landed hard, hitting her back on the window ledge. Gold was looking at her expectantly, but she ignored him, silencing him with a finger and she stalked towards the master's front door. She waited, watching as the door slowly, silently crept open. A red dot was all she needed for a target, and she fired twice again, the man instantly falling on the ground dead.

_Three, four…_

"Is this your idea of a rescue, Gold?" she whispered, stalking back towards the bedroom, keeping low from the windows.

"I believe these are your friends, dearie."

"I don't think—"

A loud peppering of automatic submachine gun against the wall in front of them silenced her, and Belle instinctively flung herself on top of Gold, protecting him from the barrage in her bulletproof suit. Glass shards, bits of wood, and plaster hit her from all directions, peppering her suit, as she felt and heard the bullets whiz inches above them.

She took her KA-BAR knife from her belt, and quickly sliced Gold's two handholds, keeping low, and then sliced his foot ties. Once free, she held on to him, rolling them off the bed, Gold landing hard on top of her.

The weight of him nearly knocked the air out of her, and he stifled a cry at his knee hitting the tiled floor.

She waited, the bullets finally stopping, and handed him her spare Sig. "Don't disappoint me," she growled, pushing herself up into a low crouch.

Gold looked confused holding the weapon. "Where are you going?"

"To go kill these fuckers," she whispered, "Stay here and stay low." She looked down at the monitor. One hostile was still directly in front of them, while the other was quickly rounding the rear of the master. _Please let this work_, she thought, switching on Jefferson's heat diffusing button on the suit.

She slipped out of the window once again—_**POP!**_

Belle fell to the ground, the hard heat from a bullet punching her bulletproof vest. She rolled to the side, another bullet hitting the ground beside her, and fired off a shot quickly, aiming low, trying to hit the shooters legs. The man shot back, pining her down. She was stuck between the building's wall and perimeter wall, with only five feet to maneuver. Standing up would be suicide.

She kept low, crab crawling toward the wall, and fired two more shots. This time, the man slipped back around the building's corner, allowing her sprint for cover. Running in a tight "S" pattern, she darted towards the beach; there was a thick garden of landscaping there to get cover in.

_Three shots._ She reached for her phone, to see where the two men went, but her hand brushed by an empty holder. Fuck_, it had fallen out in the room!_

Her chest heaving, and now tracking the men blind, she moved quickly through the thick bushes and palms, trying to reach the opposite bedroom building. It was positioned directly across from the master bedroom, and several feet higher—a perfect sniping position.

She nearly reached the other side, her wounded leg burning, and froze, realizing her error as she saw a man through her goggles reload his machine gun and begin to fire into the master bedroom again, tearing apart the wall. _Gold's the target, _she realized, cursing herself.

Only the lowered pool area separated the two bedroom buildings, from the main detached house, creating an inverted "T." She had no time to cross it in time, so she crouched, hoping her aim was true, and fired one shot directly at the shooter's head. The man fell, but quickly sprang up, turning towards her. A miss.

In response, he fired his weapon at her, spraying her side with an incessant stream of bullets, bits of foliage flying around her. The palm trunk she was pressed up to felt impossibly skinny, and she was hit hard with a bullet to her tricep, causing her to yell in pain.

Belle twisted, keeping her unprotected head against the tree, and prodded her gunshot wound. The suit had held fast.

Without knowing where the second shooter was in relation to Gold, she decided to make a run for it. Gunfire surrounded her, hitting her twice, making her stumble hard, nearly falling.

_**BANG!**_

The firing suddenly stopped, and she fell to the ground, peeking over the bush; the shooter was down, his head blown apart in a dark pool of dark green blood through her monotone glasses. _Gold._

Silently thanking him, she quickly made her way to the main house, not wanting to be at a disadvantage if she passed through the lowered pool area. She panted hard, feeling pain from all over due to the gunshots she had taken to the suit, but she tried to ignore it, keeping alert for any sound or movement.

The open-aired atrium style of the main house caused her to move haltingly: running between the pillars, and then slowly crawling underneath the cover of the low wall. It was an agonizing way of going, a few minutes feeling like hours as she made her way to the master bedroom and Gold.

Clear of the main house, she sprinted towards the building. _Two shots—one target left. Two shots—one target left._ The stats repeated like a mantra in her head.

Once parallel to the building, she crouched, observing the situation; both the front and rear of the building appeared clear, leaving the shooter either inside the building or at the rear.

She decided that she had to chance it, hoping that her anti-heat feature on her suit would fool their sensors, and moved towards the annihilated front of the master, the gaping hole giving her not much cover, but ample viewing to see inside.

_Oh fuck!_ she inwardly cursed, looking inside. Gold was inside, kneeling, with the shooter's gun pressing to his forehead.

Without hesitating, she jumped out, surprising the gunman, and shot twice. Her aim was true this time, the bullets dissolving the man's face into an indistinguishable mess of carnage as he hit the floor. She leapt over the demolished wall and went to Gold.

"Is that it? Are there more?"

He tried to rise, failing, and fell back to the floor, his legs useless from injury and hours of being tied up.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, not wanting him to stand in case there were more targets outside. _There!_ She reached for her discarded phone on the floor, quickly awakening it. The app opened, showing the grounds clear. "We're good for now," she quietly announced, relieved, walking back over to him.

Gold was still sitting on the ground, blind in the darkness, clutching his leg.

"Thank you," she said, pushing in another clip.

He looked over at her questioningly.

"For having my back out there," she explained, gesturing toward the blown-out wall.

He nodded. "I believe I should be the one thanking you, dearie."

"Did he say anything to you? Give you any hint of what he wanted?"

Gold shook his head "no," out of breath himself.

"Are you okay?" she asked, examining the dark spots on his shirt

"I'm fine." He smoothed his shirt, flinching away from her prodding. "I think that it's from him," he said, jutting his chin towards the dead man on the floor.

She took out a syringe of morphine from a nearby bag. "Give me your arm."

He raised his eyebrow. "Going to knock me out again?"

"Just give me your arm, Gold," she tiredly commanded. As if _that _was his concern at the moment. She carefully took the outstretched arm, rolling up his sleeve, and injecting the 8ccs of morphine. "For your leg."

He licked his lips, his tongue darting in and out. "Thank you."

"We need to go before more come back," she stated, rising to go examine the bodies.

"I agree."

"Stay here, I'm going to go try and get an ID."

The first man—Gold's would-be assassin—held little cues, considering he was missing three-quarters of his head, but the second body by the door was a chest shot, enabling Belle to use her iris scanner. The scan took only a few minutes, coming up with a positive identification: Ivan Bazarov, known member of the Russian SVR S Directorate, and rumored member of their Zaslon special operations group, in effect, Belle and Gold's equivalent. She pressed the man's finger to her screen, saving his fingerprint and took a picture of the body.

She went outside to the third body behind the house, repeating the same procedure. This body was identified as Oleg Gurkovsky, also a known member of the same two organizations. _Either this is one hell of a fucking coincidence, or there's something to what Gold said,_ she thought, walking back into the bedroom.

Belle knew that once whoever sent the men found out about their failed mission, if they didn't already, they would send more to finish the job, whether that job was to kill Gold or herself she wasn't sure quite yet.

"They were SVR, part of the Zaslon group. Know either of them?" she asked, showing them her photos.

"Afraid not."

She began packing up Jefferson's bag. "What the hell is going on here, Gold? Did you call this in?"

"What?"

"Two seconds after you tell me that Mills is some deep KGB/SVR agent, we nearly get taken out by 'surprise' KGB/SVR agents. Helluva coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

His jaw clenched. "I didn't call this in, dearie. If your memory is failing you, if it wasn't for your good aim, I'd be dead."

"Maybe that's what you wanted me to see?"

"Maybe you should just look at the facts, French. Decide already—kill me or not—believe me or not—but choose _something_, because this back and forth is pissing me off!"

She paused, taken aback by his rare outburst. "Can you walk?" she finally asked, quietly, not wanting to draw attention to his failing leg, but needing an answer.

Gold grimaced, using the bedpost to pull himself upright. "I don't know," he sighed.

"Okay. It's okay," Belle said, more to herself. Time was of the essence and they needed to get out of here _now_. She reached into the bag, and found a second pair of night goggles. "Put these on," she instructed, handing them behind her.

"You're taking me with you?"

She huffed. "Gold, we have bigger fucking problems if you haven't noticed. Put the damn goggles on," she ordered, continuing to rummage through the bag, finally finding another roll of compression wrapping. Jefferson was officially her favorite person. How he had planned out this packing, she had no idea, but so far his choice of items was outstanding.

Belle almost reached for Gold's leg, but then remembered his bare feet. _Shit._ She abandoned the tape, crawling around the floor to try and find his shoes she had discarded. The debris from the wall made it nearly impossible, but thankfully, after a short search she found both of them.

"Here you go," she said, kneeling down to hold the first one out for him to place his foot it. Gold did so without complaint, wincing as he put his bandaged foot in. He leaned against her heavily as he slid on the second one though. She could tell that he was holding back how much pain he was in; she could only hope that the morphine would kick in soon.

Without asking, she gently grabbed his injured leg and wrapped it tightly with the ace bandage, temporarily securing it for the journey. As she wound the bandage back up to secure the tie, she could hear Gold breathe heavily in pain, and she inwardly winced, sorry for his discomfort. "All finished," she gently announced. "We have to go."

She clipped in her two weapons and phone, securing them on her belt, and then placed Jefferson's heavy bag's strap, diagonally across her chest with a grunt. It was heavy, but then, she'd carried it last night too, so she was used to the weight. She looked over at Gold, who was still leaning against the bed, and she sighed, pulling his arm over her shoulders, taking on his weight.

"I can walk by my—"

"No, you can't," she grunted, pulling them both towards the door. "Here. Wait." She pulled her phone off her belt, scrolling to the heat signature app, and handed it over to him. "Hold this. Point it around; if any dots show up, well then…" she trailed off, not having to finish the obvious.

"We have to get to the main island, I have a plane there."

"Me too," Belle muttered, looking each way, toward the front door and the beach, unsure of which one to choose. "Which way?"

Gold grunted, leaning on her as they staggered a step forward. "Not the main docks—they'll be waiting there. I can wait here—you go, get a boat."

Belle shook her head. "I'm not leaving you behind."

"Worried that I'll run away, dearie?"

"I'm worried that you'll be killed."

Gold fell silent at her statement.

"Gold," she paused, waiting for his full attention, "I'm trusting you here. Can you promise not to try and kill me until we finish this?"

"You have my word," Gold replied, seriously.

Belle nodded, her choice made, hoping it wasn't foolhardy. "Then you have mine. Let's go."


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Hi, everyone! Sorry for the delay. This is actually part 1 of this chapter. I was planning on getting it completely finished before I went out of town this week, but then I ended up going out of town. I didn't want to leave you hanging though, so here is the first part.**

**As always, thank you so much for all of your reviews. Seriously, my day is made when I read your kind words. You're all awesome! :) Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

When Belle was four years old, she had been outside in her backyard, playing on her swing set, when her father had surprised her, rushing outside to gather her up into his arms. Her father was crying, which had confused her, because her pappa didn't cry—that was just silly. She had asked him if he had gotten an "owie," but he had ignored her question and said he that he needed to tell her something. He had told her that mamma was needed up in heaven and that she had to go and become an angel.

That had confused Belle; heaven was where grandpa was and even though they had told her that he was still with them, he never visited her anymore. Mama had promised that she was going to be home in a few days. She was even going to bring a surprise home back from her trip. She'd _promised_. Belle's father, though, had no answers to her questions; instead, he just hugged her tighter, whispering in her hair that they had to be "brave" now. Belle didn't know what brave was, but she had promised to be it if it made her father's "owie" go away.

When Belle was nine, her father was stationed at the Joint Defense Facility Pine Gap, in Alice Springs, Australia. Belle loved it there. The large community of military families stationed there had many children around Belle's age, which provided her with an endless source of playmates. One of the more unique holidays in the desert community, and Belle's favorite, was the Alice Springs Camel Cup. The race itself was exciting, but not nearly as exciting for Belle as the camel rides provided nearby for all of the children.

In the days leading up to the event, Belle had steadfastly reminded her father of his promise to take her to the camel rides and had all but dragged him there when the day finally came. Her father had, of course, humored her, allowing her to ride the camels over and over and over again. By the time she finished her final ride, most of the crowd around the pens had drifted over towards the track to watch the main race. Belle was more interested in the petting zoo camels though, and had strayed back towards the pen where they kept them, unbeknownst to her father who thought she was still trailing right behind him.

She had nearly reached the pen, when she stopped, spotting a large, dark brown snake slither in the grass only a couple feet in front of her. Belle instantly knew what kind of snake it was; it was a mulga, one of the most poisonous snakes in the desert, the one that her teachers had warned her so much about. Belle had instantly frozen in place and held her breath. Her father had called out her name in alarm, but she knew she wasn't supposed to move, so she remained silent and still. Her father found her several minutes later, and she'd known instantly from his red face that he was furious with her, but she kept her mouth shut, pointedly looking between him and the snake. The General had instantly reacted, and in one smooth move, had grabbed a shovel, lying against the camel pen, and struck the large serpent, instantly beheading it. Threat over, Belle had run into her father's arms, where he kept repeating, "Oh, my brave little girl. My brave little, Belle," into her auburn hair.

Little did she know at the time, but his little term of endearment would stick. It seemed that everything she did, her father would proudly declare her as his "brave little Belle." The problem was, she never considered herself brave at all. She just did, well, what she thought that she was supposed to do. Saw a classmate cheating? Belle had quietly slipped an anonymous note to her teacher, telling her of the incident. Walking home, instead of driving back with her friends who had been drinking? Apparently, that was bravery in her father's eyes too. Belle, at the time, had just considered it common sense.

Many years later, when Belle was 24, she had received a notice that she was to deploy with the 75th Ranger Regiment to an unknown location in two days. Their operation was classified as top secret and they were told that they would have to wait until they were en route to learn of their assignment. However, with the war in full swing, it didn't take much of a guess to know where they were going—it was either one of two places. Belle hadn't minded though; she would've done anything to get away from the unrelenting Georgia summer humidity.

She had few plans for the days before she left; her father was overseas, so she couldn't visit him, and she had no friends outside her unit that she wanted to visit. With nothing to do, her nerves had nearly gotten the best of her, so to pass the time, she had decided to go to the shooting field. The slow, methodical technique that she employed always cured her nerves.

She had been nearly ready to leave for one such excursion, when a loud, resounding knock on her door echoed throughout her small apartment. Curious, she had opened it, revealing none other than her father, standing the doorway with his general's hat tucked under his arm.

No matter how hardened of a soldier she had become, the sight of her father instantly transformed her into his little girl once again and she had leapt into his embrace, hugging him with everything she had. They had talked for hours after that. The General had even made Belle her favorite childhood meal—although, not until after he had chided her on the lack of "real" food in her kitchen.

As the evening wore down, and his departure had become imminent—he had to fly back to Germany that night on the red eye—Belle had become more and more unnerved. The reality of leaving for war, even though she had trained and prepared for almost every scenario she would encounter in her training, frightened her. Finally, she had asked her father the question that had been troubling her for longer than she would care to admit, the question that she couldn't ask to anyone else, but needed the answer to before she left.

"Papa, how are you so brave?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

Her next words had slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Papa, I'm not brave. You've always told me that I'm brave, but I'm not. How am I supposed to go over there when I'm scared?"

Her father had moved his chair around to hers, grasping her hands in his large, callused ones. "That's what bravery is, my dear girl. Bravery is doing the brave thing, despite being afraid. Do you think that I'm never afraid? Or wonder if I'm doing the right thing or not? I send these boys over there and all I have is my best judgment. All I do is try to trust my gut, and my men, and hopefully I'll make the best decision."

"But what if I can't do that? What if—"

"Belle," he said gently, "You've been doing that your whole life. That's why you're my brave, little girl. I call you that because that who you are, who you've always been. You've made me prouder than any father has a right to be."

Belle had dissolved into tears and hugged him, holding him for an endless amount of time, until finally, their time had drawn to a close and he needed to leave. He'd risen, tears standing in his eyes, and had whispered in her ear as he hugged her tight, "I'm so proud of you, my brave little Belle. You do the brave thing, and I promise, your bravery will always follow."

And now, only a couple weeks from her thirtieth birthday, Belle found herself challenged, as she had never been before, to follow her father's words. She'd never been in a situation such as this—following her gut to go against a direct order. A wet work mission at that. She looked over at Gold, lying eerily still next to her in the tall beach grass, and could only hope that by doing this brave thing, her bravery would soon follow.

…

"When did your contact say he was arriving?"

Gold continued to stare out towards the dark ocean, ignoring her.

"Gold—"

"0200," he quietly replied.

_Two more hours._ Two more long hours of waiting alongside an armed man that Belle was supposed to have killed days ago, only to be now waiting for his "business contact's" boat to take them to Cuba.

"Can you trust them?"

"No."

"_What?" _ Belle looked over in alarm.

"I don't trust anyone, dearie," Gold steely replied, continuing to look out to the sea.

What he was looking for so intently, Belle could only guess. He hadn't moved a muscle since they arrived to this remote beach an hour ago. She was more concerned with keeping watch behind them in case their attackers decided to regroup and engage in "round two" with them.

This haphazard plan that they had concocted on the walk over still didn't sit well with her, but with no other immediate options at hand, she'd been forced into agreeing to it. Flying was out of the question because their planes would be undoubtedly MASINT tagged, or worse, rigged with explosives. In fact, it was likely that any plane that took off from that small airport at this hour would be monitored. Thus, she was left with no other option than to use Gold's contact to get them off the island.

"Having second thoughts about our deal, dearie?"

Belle looked over, his words breaking her train of thought. "Gold, if I wanted you dead, I would've done it days ago."

His head shook slightly as he mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?" Belle lay down next to him, abandoning her crouching stance. Her leg was instantly grateful for the change. She pressed up alongside him, trying to jar him into looking at her. "You don't think that I could've done it?" she challenged, immediately aware of his closeness to her, their hips nearly touching.

Gold finally turned and looked at her, his muddied, camouflaged face looking strange in her night vision glasses. "No, I don't believe you could have," he confidently replied.

Belle gritted her teeth at his cocky reply, offended by his arrogance. "In the restaurant. Two shots, double tap to your head and chest. You would've been dead before you realized that you had been staring at the wrong little brunette your whole meal."

He smirked. "Hmm, that was a cute trick you used, but I still saw you there."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes. I did."

"Oh, really? What did I look like then?"

He turned away from her challenging glare to look back over at the ocean.

Belle smirked to herself in satisfaction. "I knew you didn't see—"

"Corner table, opposite side of the restaurant, short black wig, same lovely smile."

"I, uh…how did you—"

"Dearie, you couldn't have killed me, even if you had tried to."

"First off, the name's French—not dearie. Secondly, I think you're full of shit, Gold. You didn't recognize me at that restaurant. You just happen to have a photographic memory. Nice try, though."

"I believe you said 'saw' Agent French, not recognized."

"Okay, Gold, you _saw_ me—you still didn't recognize me. And it wouldn't have mattered anyways because I still could've killed you."

"_Could_ have, not did. Now who's trifling with technicalities, my dear?"

"It's not as if you did any better," she shot back.

Gold laughed humorlessly, still avoiding her gaze. "Well, at least I tried."

"Which is actually more embarrassing, if I do say so myself."

Her tease made his jaw clench in anger. "At least I didn't fall for a basic bait and switch, and chase down a poor, scared man through the streets of Rome."

"Well, at least I didn't lose my mind when my money was misplaced."

"Watch yourself, French," he growled, shooting a dark glare over at her.

Belle was unafraid of him though; he needed her alive to retrieve his precious money. "Or what, you'll kill me?"

Gold paused, smiling to himself and then looked over at her, his dark eyes narrowed dangerously at her. "No, I won't kill you, French. I'll make you _beg_ for me to kill you. I don't trifle in silly little games like you. I'll make you wish that you never met me."

"What's to say that I don't think that already?" Belle replied, glaring back at him, his face only inches from her own, close enough to smell a subtle hint of his cologne. Too close for comfort, but Belle wasn't going to budge, no matter how much she suddenly regretted her decision to give him a gun.

Gold's face tightened into his familiar, threatening smile. "Well, that's a shame. And to think that we only just met."

"Well, you did just threaten to kill me."

"Hardly a reason to regret knowing someone," he evenly replied back.

Belle's mouth gaped open, her comeback forgotten. _Christ, he is as crazy as Jefferson._ She swallowed, gathering herself to play along. "Well, I suppose you're right."

Her response seemed to please him, and his eyes creased in a hint of a satisfaction. "I gave you my word, dearie," he quietly whispered, punctuating every word. "I will not kill you."

"And I gave you my word as well." Such ridiculous words, Belle thought, promising not to kill eachother, but she felt the tension between them slowly dissipate after she spoke them.

The next hours passed by quickly. With their hideout at least momentarily secure, Belle busied herself with surveillance and checking their weapons and ammunition, the second priority on her ingrained Ranger survival priority list: security, weapons, hygiene, food, and then sleep. The latter three she was unable to deal with at the moment, but she could at least make sure they were well armed. Unfortunately, though, due to their fast escape, they had only been able to take a minimum amount of ammunition. Between the two of them, they were down to only three guns, two knives, and two extra clips to share. Hardly enough weaponry to face an unknown, skilled enemy, but they would have to make due.

As she finished cleaning the last gun, she turned her attention to Jefferson's bag. It would have to be unfortunately left behind. She couldn't chance it falling into the wrong hands should their plan go to hell. However, she was unwilling to discard it entirely, so she quickly buried it in the sand beside a tree where she would have someone recover it later.

A small, distinct, flashing beacon on the water instantly drew her attention, and she returned to her hiding position alongside Gold.

"Your contact?"

"It appears so."

Belle had tried to track the number that Gold had called from her phone, but her search had proved unsuccessful. With Mary out of the office for the evening, she wasn't able to trust her replacement enough to look into it further, so she had to abandon the trace. As much as she hated it, she was going to have to trust Gold.

"So what's the plan?" she asked, hearing the soft rumble of a motorboat growing louder in the distance.

Gold didn't acknowledge her though; he was too intently focused on the Zodiac, now within range of the beach.

Belle brought up her gun, lying in a sniper shooting position, concentrating on her breath while she set her sights on the lone man in the boat. She watched as the Zodiac silently breached the shore. The boat and its lone occupant were completely black, making it a difficult target to see to the naked eye, but with her night vision glasses, Belle could see the hairs on the man's head.

"I have him. You go ahead, I'll cover you. Signal if it's clear," she whispered to Gold, without taking the man out of her sights. When Gold didn't respond or move though, Belle asked again: "Gold, you with me?"

She saw him out of the corner of her eye, trying to move, audibly wincing as he did.

"I…uh…"

"It's fine," Belle quickly replied, saving him from his embarrassment. She felt foolish for asking him. Of course, he couldn't walk out there; they'd barely made it the half-mile to this deserted beach. "Here," she said, holding out her gun, "put this on your left hip, or back."

He looked at her questioningly, but then complied without further question.

"Wait."

Gold stilled, his gun in hand. "What?"

"Your knife," she whispered back, inwardly cursing herself as she handed the damned weapon back to him.

He simply nodded, sheathing the knife in his belt.

"Put them all on your left side," she added, needing the access to it if this all went to hell.

With their weapons secure, Belle stood up first, her gun held unholstered at her side, and helped Gold up, slinging his right arm over her shoulder. She tried not to grunt from the increased weight, but it was hard; Gold was leaning nearly all of his weight into her.

The deep sand made it difficult for them to make their approach, but the man held his hands at his side, trying at least appear to be non-threatening. Belle wasn't buying it though, and subtly took off the safety to her sidearm, embarrassingly pulling Gold tighter to her side with her other arm as she did so. He immediately noticed, murmuring, "I got it from here," in her ear, reassuringly.

Thirty feet from the man, Gold stopped to Belle's surprise. The man stepped forward in turn. Dressed all in black, the well-built man looked to be of middle-eastern descent, but it was hard to judge from this distance at night, especially in Belle's green-tinged view.

"¿Querría algunas rosas rojas? Tengo seis vendo."

"Deseo sólo cinco aunque," Gold smoothly replied.

The man showed no emotion. "El precio no es negociable."

"Very good. Shall we be off, then?"

The man nodded. "Of course, Mr. Alamar," he said, gesturing to the Zodiac bobbing in the low waves breaking along the shore.

Whatever bizarre code was exchanged, Gold seemed to be acquiesced, but Belle felt his body remain taught with tension so she stayed close, untrusting of this new acquaintance. She sensed that the man was clearly a professional, as evidenced by his stance and demeanor, so she was going to keep a wide berth.

She waited until the man got into the boat before she helped Gold in, getting in last to position herself at an angle from the man in order to make for a harder target. She knew she wouldn't miss should he fire, but she wasn't giving a similar shooting advantage to him, no matter how much Gold seemed to trust him.

As they made their way out onto the open ocean, Belle found it increasingly difficult to hold on to the side of the Zodiac, while keeping her focus on the man in the rear, controlling the boat. Despite the lack of white caps, the sea was deceivingly rough and tossed the little boat about. The further they got from shore, Belle couldn't help but become more and more unnerved, sensing a trap, but she could do nothing but sit by until someone made a move to the contrary. Finally, after a seemingly endless ten-minute ride, a large, white vessel appeared in front of them. Belle could barely believe her eyes. Gold clearly had well-connected friends.

The yacht itself was over 200-feet long, and appeared to have three or four decks. Instead of feeling impressed, Belle could only feel dread. Who knew how many people could be hidden within the monstrosity's walls.

Their escort piloted the small Zodiac to the rear of the vessel, docking it alongside an extended rear deck. Even at the rear, their 20-foot Zodiac felt like a bath toy alongside this behemoth.

Without comment, the dark-skinned man jumped out of the boat with a rope and quickly tied it to one of the cleats. Belle kept her eyes out for the rest of the crew, but the vessel was dark; except for a few piloting lights, she could see no one. It was as if they had docked on a ghost ship.

With the Zodiac secure, the man held a hand out to Gold to help him to the deck. Gold murmured his thanks as he tried to stand, immediately faltering. The man and Belle both automatically leaned forward to try and steady him, but the man got to Gold first, steadying him on the shoulder as he pulled him out.

With Gold out of the boat, the man turned his attention to Belle. "Ms. Case?" he offered, holding out his hand.

Belle barely had time to react as Gold struck out, grabbing the man's Beretta from his belt and shot him in the head.

"Gold, what the—"

_**Bam!**_

A second later, Belle was forced violently backwards into the dark water. She was momentarily stunned by the shot, and instantly felt terrified as she felt another bullet strike her leg.

Blind in the endless blackness, Belle could only try to hold her breath and swim away from where she thought the Zodiac and shooter were. Her lungs were burning though; the initial bullet had hit her so hard, she was nearly out of breath when she hit the water. Pausing, she fought back the panic and the pain and let out a short burst of her air, watching the bubbles to determine her direction in the water, and then slowly made her way to the surface, hoping to get just a quick gasp of air.

As she broke the surface, she greedily drank in the air, keeping only her lips above the water, but even from that angle, she could hear more bullets, so she dove down again. Her gun was thankfully still strapped to her waist, but Gold had her spare, leaving her with only a precious, few shots to take.

She chanced it and breached the water again, finding herself alongside the yacht, thirty-feet from the rear dock. From this angle, it would be nearly impossible to get an accurate shot, so she had to move. Diving down again, Belle kept one hand alongside the yacht to keep her bearings and swam towards the firefight. The shots meant only one thing—Gold was still alive, but not for long if she couldn't reach him as backup.

All she had to her advantage was the element of surprise, so she moved as quickly as possible, keeping flush with the boat the whole time, until she found some side steps etched into the side of the boat. She looked up; the steps seemed to go to the first deck. Not exactly the most advantageous shooting situation, but it would be better than simply shooting from the water.

She waited until she heard another burst of gunfire, noting the shooters' location from the sound, and then quickly scurried up the stairs, launching herself over the railing. Not even two-feet in front of her was a man in a full tactical suit, walking away from her towards the rear. She launched herself at him, unsheathing her knife as she did so, and severed his carotid with a single blow. The man quivered, gurgling, so Belle held him down, trying to silence him. His death took only moments and she moved on, collecting his gun.

Two more shots rang out, but there was no return fire this time. Gold must be out. She moved quickly, keeping low and spotted the first gunman. He was also facing away from her towards the rear, but at too great of a distance to chance a knife attack, so she crouched into her shooting stance, and shot once. A kill shot.

The force of the shot forced the man over the railing, resulting in a loud splash. The loud noise momentarily distracted the second gunman on the lower deck, allowing Belle to get a clear target. She shot twice, the silenced gun giving off no more than a wisp of noise, and the man fell with a quiet thud.

Not wanting to wait around for more gunmen, she ran down the large stairs, grabbing the assailant's gun on the way.

"Gold!" she whispered as loudly as she dared, sprinting towards the Zodiac. It was empty. _Where was he? —Oh, God._ Belle gasped as she saw his still form, lying prone on the deck, alongside one of the walls. _No, no, no, no..._

She ran to his side and Gold instantly stirred, pointing his gun at her. "Gold!" she cried out in relief.

He looked at her, stunned. "French?"

"Yes," she replied, panting. There was no time for pleasantries though, so she yanked him up with all of her strength and dragged him to the Zodiac. Once aboard, she quickly sliced through the boat's tie rope with her knife and grabbed the controls, pushing the throttle to max power.

Gold, though, was more concerned about her, and awkwardly stumbled back, trying to get to her. "They shot you….I saw…"

Unnerved by his sudden concern, she waved him off, more concerned about getting clear away so they weren't shot at from someone on the yacht. There was no way that there were only three men aboard that boat.

Once they were safe distance away, Belle throttled back to conserve fuel and to hear if anyone was in pursuit. Hearing nothing, she felt as if she could finally breathe again. "Are you okay? Were you hit at all?"

Gold simply shook his head and handed her back her gun. She took it with a small acknowledgement of thanks, and then gave him one of the silenced automatics she stole in return, much to his confusion. The less noise they both made, from here on out, the better, she rationalized.

"What happened back there?" she asked, as she increased their speed again, her teeth chattering in the wind. Despite the mild, tropical temperatures, Belle was freezing in her soaked suit.

"I don't know," Gold admitted, shouting against the wind. "Most likely they were with the same assault team. When our driver held out his hand, I saw his wrist. He had a tattoo of the Russian Spetsnaz insignia."

"That could mean anything—"

"I never gave them your name, French. They knew your cover."

"Fuck," Belle murmured to herself. That legend had been rock solid for years. Technically, she had been using a NOC ever since she arrived on the island, abandoning her main legend as a EU official in favor of a non-official cover as a socialite, but knowing that she didn't have anything official to fall back on at all now was unnerving. The Agency, no matter who the agent was, could not and would not intervene if an agent was caught while they were using a NOC. "We need to get to the main island," she announced, more to herself.

Gold nodded in agreement, but moved closer towards her. "Are you all right, French?"

"What?" Belle asked, alarmed by his proximity. Without her night vision goggles, she could barely make out his face in the moonlight and didn't know what he was doing.

He pointed to her leg, concerned. "You're shot. You were shot."

"Yes, but the suit…I'm fine."

He didn't seem to be happy with her answer though, as he continued to stare at her, edging slightly closer. Unlike her, Gold still had his night vision goggles on and was fixated on her.

Finally, it became too much. "The suit stopped it. See?" she said, irritated. As proof, she extended her leg, instantly regretting it as pain burst forth from her leg and the night's darkness suddenly sprouted stars that weren't there a second ago. Her axis tilted and she edged off the throttle, feeling extremely dizzy. "Gold?" she whispered, confused and betrayed by her body's reaction, as she tried in vain to hold off the darkness...but then there was nothing.

...

"French?… French!"

_**Splash!**_

Belle gasped, sputtering, instantly coming to at the sensation of water dowsing her again. She jumped up, scrambling back, her chest heaving. "Wha…what happened?" she whispered, confused and disoriented.

Gold moved over toward her. "Your leg—you're losing blood. We need to get to shore."

Belle could only nod. Her head was still swimming, and the boat's rocking wasn't helping. "I, uh…" she blinked hard, trying to make the dizziness stop. She heard Gold move over, but she couldn't open her eyes just yet. Her leg was pounding, the pain slowly replacing her surge of adrenaline. She opened her eyes at sharp pressure on her leg and noticed that Gold had removed his shirt and was wrapping it around her leg.

"Here, sit," he directed, taking over the controls.

As much as Belle hated relinquishing control, she had no choice. The white shirt around her leg was already rapidly darkening, the pain and disorientation ebbing her sense of alarm.

Her head lolled against the rubber side of the zodiac. She was just so _tired_. Gold, though, kept hitting her. _That asshole_, she thought, _he's keeping me awake._

"French…stay with me, French!" he yelled over the sound of the motor, but Belle didn't care. She was tired and wanted to sleep.

He slapped her hard along the side of her head, but Belle didn't care. She just wanted to sleep.

So she did.

…

Belle blinked, slowly coming to at a repetitive, soft, ticking noise. _What was that?_ She was confused. Last thing she remembered she was in a boat…_Oh, shit._

Adrenaline shot through her and she was instantly awake at her recollection. She tried to tentatively move, but was held back by various IVs attached to her arms. _What the hell?_ She tried to tear them off, but little stars crossed her vision again, and she gently lain back into her bed, closing her eyes to wait out the wave of dizziness.

Several moments passed by and then something large shifted onto the end of her bed. Intrigued, she chanced opening her eyes again, albeit slower this time, and saw Gold sitting on the foot of her bed, staring at her. His face covered in light stubble, and he looked haggard, utterly exhausted. He was also wearing a loud, tropical shirt, which she found extremely amusing. His eyes widened in surprise when he noticed she was staring at him, and he tentatively moved over to sit closer to her.

"Ahh, you're finally awake," he quietly observed, his relief clearly evident in his tone.

Belle tried to talk, but her mouth felt like sandpaper. Gold dutifully grabbed a nearby glass of water with a straw in it and offered it to her, holding it as she drank. It tasted wonderful as it ran down her parched throat. "Where are we?" she finally croaked out.

"Antigua."

Her foggy mind tried to piece this bit of information together. They shouldn't be here. They needed to get _away_ from here. "But…how long? What happened?"

"Your…ahh…cut", he gestured, a slight look of embarrassment crossing his features. "The one on your leg. It reopened from the gunshot. I wasn't able to stop your bleeding, and you were unconscious, so I got help."

None of what he was saying was making any sense.

He hurriedly continued, despite her furrowed brow. "The doctors, nurses—no one knows who you are. I made sure of it. Afterwards, I took you here. And, uh…" he gestured with his hands again.

"How long have I been here?" she whispered, growing tired again.

"Twelve hours."

"Twelve?" she said, her voice rising in alarm. "We can't stay…we need to go…we have a trace—"

He stopped her with a gentle hand, stilling her. "French, believe it or not, I've been doing this for longer than you. It's okay. We're covered for the time being. You need to rest."

She fought against him, trying to sit up. "We can't stay. They'll know. They'll be looking."

"French, your respect for my craft is flattering, truly," he deadpanned, raising his eyebrow.

She winced, falling back into the pillows. "I'm sorry. It's just—"

"I have everything covered. We'll leave here as soon as you are able. In the meantime, you need to rest. There's no need to have two cripples between us."

Belle looked at him, studying this man that she was sworn to kill, and no doubt wanted her dead as well. "Why?"

"Why, what, my dear?"

"Why are you helping me?"

He instantly looked uncomfortable, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. "Couldn't have you die so pathetically, especially since you haven't told me where my money is yet."

It was a lie, one that Belle could spot even in her drug-induced haze, but she couldn't find it in herself to press him on it. "Thank you."

He looked unsure, frowning at her words. "It's…ah…it's nothing," he mumbled, once again gesturing awkwardly with his hands.

Belle tried to alleviate some of his discomfort by looking elsewhere about the room. It was clearly some kind of bedroom, styled in soft, tropical hues, whether it was a hotel or house she couldn't tell discern; a warm breeze blew in the room from a nearby veranda, the sunlight beaming though the white curtains in bright streams of light. What she did notice, though, was her shredded tact suit, lying nearby on a chair.

"The doctor needed to cut it off to get to your leg," Gold awkwardly explained, as if sensing her question.

Belle nodded. The suit was ruined anyways. She'd taken more bullets yesterday then she had in years. She wasn't about to tempt fate anymore by donning it again.

"I wasn't there," he quickly added.

Belle would've laughed if he didn't sound so sincere and uncomfortable at the admission. She herself didn't know what to make of his sudden modesty. This was the same man that all but cockily invited her into his bed the previous day, and now was reddening at the mere mention of her change of clothing. Eager to change subjects, Belle addressed her other concern: "Was my phone still with my suit?"

"Aye, here," he said, producing her phone from his pant's pocket.

She examined the device with care, turning it on. Remarkably, it was still in one piece. R&D had come through this time.

"So eager to get away from me, dearie?"

"I am. How did you know? That's actually going to be my _first _call—to Mills. 'Director, I found Gold. Should I take him out now?'" She was obviously teasing, but Gold looked at as if he wasn't completely convinced, so she continued, exasperated, "I need it to call in my legend. Remember those days, Gold?"

"Vaguely." He smiled self-depreciating. "I'll, uh, leave you to it then."

"You don't have to leave."

He rose from the bed anyways, grabbing a brightly colored cane from the nightstand. "You need to rest. I'll be back later."

She smiled back at him. "New cane," she noted, gesturing towards his new accessory, amused with the bright striping down the cane, clearly not the fashionably styled Gold's first choice.

He looked down, as if surprised by her observation. "Ah, yes. My options were limited."

"I like it. Your outfit on the other hand…"

"A necessary evil," he admitted, with a hint of a smile at her teasing. "Get some rest, dearie," he murmured, and quickly left, softly closing the door behind him.

…

Gold didn't return until the evening. Belle hadn't even heard him slip in; she'd simply awoken from another dreamless sleep to find him keeping vigil at the veranda, gun in hand, intently focused on the view.

"Hey," she quietly whispered, shifting herself up on the bed.

Gold turned around. "Miss French. How are you feeling?"

"Better," she admitted. And it was true. While he had been gone, Belle had gotten out of bed to test her leg, as well as to take stock of her new surroundings, while she made her phone calls. The leg was painful to walk on, but not unbearable. The hotel they were staying at also seemed to be a good choice, with their room out of any clear sniping points.

He nodded, rising from his chair with a wince that he quickly tried to pass off. Belle noticed though, and instantly felt guilty. Here, he was taking care of her, even though he was obviously greatly injured himself. Halfway to the bed, he stopped to take a bag out of the hotel refrigerator. "Are you hungry? I got some food."

Even though she didn't have much of an appetite, Belle was touched by his gesture. "I am. Thank you."

Gold twitched again, nervously fidgeting with his hands. "It's no matter," he gruffly said. He took the contents out of the bag and placed it on a tray, from the room's bar.

She tried to rise to help him with the tray, but he waved her concern off and placed the tray on the foot of her bed.

"I didn't know what you preferred, so I—"

"It's perfect. Thank you. You didn't have to." The food did look delicious. He had brought her some type of gazpacho soup, along with a sandwich. Her stomach growled at the smell.

Once again, he waved her off, clearly uneasy with any type of compliment, which confused Belle.

She took the first bite of the sandwich and it was as delicious as it smelled. Uncomfortable with eating alone in front of him, she offered the second half to Gold.

"I'm fine."

"What? Is it poisoned?" she teased, halfway serious at his curious expression directed at her sandwich.

Gold scoffed. "Poison you, my dear? What a dreadfully uninspired way to kill someone."

Belle laughed. "Forgive me. What was I thinking?"

"Clearly, you weren't."

She smiled at his unexpected humor and offered the sandwich again, "Please? I can't eat all this all by myself."

This time, he tentatively accepted, pulling a chair up alongside her.

"I figured out how they intercepted the call," Belle said after a few minutes.

Gold looked over, intrigued.

"The number you called? I had Blanchard look up the call direction. It seems that it was pinged by our side. 30 seconds after you placed your call, a call went out from an Agency phone to an untraceable phone—most likely a disposable."

"Mills."

"Most likely. The Agency number wasn't traceable, but that is my best bet. And that's not all. Last night, after I texted Blanchard to look into anything and everything about the 'Malus,' she did. She said that five minutes later, she was called directly into Mills' office and interrogated as to where and why she got that code name. She lied, saying that she meant to look up Maius—a French terrorist that another agent is pursing. Mills clearly didn't buy it, but she couldn't do anything to her. Gave her a helluva scare though. Mills threatened to fire her if she looked into it further, or if she discovered that she was lying."

Gold smirked. "Why, Agent French, do my eyes deceive me, or is that the look of a believer?"

Belle took another bite of her sandwich. "I don't know what to think right now, but I do know that something is going on and Mills is most likely involved. I also think that you know more than what you're telling me."

"Why's that?"

"I have a hunch."

"A hunch?"

Belle narrowed her eyes in jest, pinching her fingers together, leaving a little gap. "A little one."

"That's all?"

"Yep," she said, taking another bite of sandwich, before the smile that was threatening to cross her face did.

Gold looked down, suddenly serious. "French, I meant what I said earlier. This isn't your fight."

"I'm not afraid, Gold. This may not be my fight, but this _is_ my job. If there is a threat, I'm going to try and stop it."

He gritted his teeth, shaking his head in frustration. "It's not the time to try and be a hero, dearie. I almost got you killed last night and—"

"No, the asshole who shot me almost got me killed last night. Not you. You saved my life."

"I lead you into that."

"And it was my choice to go with you. You couldn't have known anyways." He opened his mouth to argue again, but Belle stopped him, holding up her hand. "Stop. I don't want to hear it."

Gold sat there, his eyes boring into her, quietly simmering. Belle could tell he was angry, but what she said was the truth; there was obviously something going on here, and she was going to get to the bottom of it. _Do the brave thing…_

She finished her food, completely full, and placed the tray aside. Gold had yet to say another word.

"Look, Gold," she said, swinging her legs out of the bed, so she could face him. "I'll make you a deal."

He simply stared at her with his predatory eyes, not saying a word, waiting for her offer. _Christ, he was unnerving when he did that._

"I know you know more than what you're saying. So my offer is this: if you give me any sort of evidence implicating Mills, or detailing this operation Malus, I'll give you all of your money back and help you disappear again, if you wish to. I swear that you'll never hear from me again. I'll go back, and report that I killed you. Case closed."

Gold swallowed, and bowed his head. "You don't know what you're asking, French. These people…they'll ruin you. And then they'll kill you," he concluded, looking up, staring hard into her eyes.

"I'm not afraid of them. I'm afraid of what they'll do if I walk away and do nothing."

"You should be afraid of them."

"Fuck them. They should be scared of me. And if not me, who else is going to take them down? No one else is going to believe you."

Gold simply stared at her. "Your family, friends…none of them will be safe if you pursue this."

"Well, I guess we better do this right before anything happens to them, then." Belle kept his gaze. "Do we have a deal?"

He looked away for a minute and then looked back at her. She thought he was about refuse, but then he slowly nodded, never breaking eye contact. "A deal, then. You're going to regret this, French."

"How about you let me decide that? Now, I have something for you..." Reaching into the nightstand, she grabbed the piece of paper she had written on previously and handed it over to him.

Gold looked at it, confused.

"Your son's account," she explained. "As a token of good faith. Those numbers are all you need to transfer it back. I believe you already know which bank it's at."

He coughed uncomfortably, his face hardening. "How did you know?" he asked, quietly, his anger palpable under the surface.

"The date," Belle explained, feeling instantly horrible for manipulating him in that way. "The contributions stopped when he…I didn't do anything to it. It's all there."

He nodded, pocketing the slip of paper.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, the words bursting from her lips. Whether if be from the drugs, or her guilty conscious, Belle didn't know, but she couldn't help but not apologize for her actions, especially after seeing the flicker of sadness when she mentioned his son.

Gold looked up at her in surprise, shock clear on his face, which he quickly masked away.

"I needed a way to get you to…I'm sorry."

"I would've done the same, French. Most likely worse."

She nodded, suddenly uncomfortable, and tried to make herself busy by tidying up the food tray. As she rose from the bed, Gold tried to stop her, audibly wincing in the effort. "It's okay. I've already tried it out," she explained. He clearly wasn't satisfied with her answer, closely scrutinizing her every movement as she slowly made her way over to the bar.

"How's your leg?" she asked as she walked back over to him.

He lifted up his pant leg in reply. The wrap that she had secured the previous night was still there, much to her chagrin. Clearly, he hadn't done anything to it.

Without reply, she limped back over to the bar. Thankfully, there was a small ice container in the refrigerator, enough to make a small, ice pack.

"Here," she directed, motioning for him to extend his leg in the chair. With great effort, she slowly lowered herself to the floor, trying not to put any pressure on her own leg.

"French, you don't have to—"

"Do you want to be able to walk anytime soon?"

"I—"

She tipped her head. "Give me you leg."

He extended it towards her slowly; his knuckles were white with tension as he gripped the chair.

"Did you take anything for the pain?"

He shook his head, swallowing a gasp at her slow unraveling of the ace bandage. "Needed to keep a clear head."

She frowned. "Do we have any more?"

"The doctor left some for you on the counter."

With an awkward hop, Belle got up off the floor, and walked over to the counter, searching for the mysterious spare painkillers.

"Over there," Gold pointed towards an armoire on the other end of the suite.

Sure enough, there was an unmarked bottle of generic percocet. Belle palmed several off and then grabbed a small tumbler, filling it in the bathroom on the way back to Gold's chair. "Here," she offered.

"I need to—"

"Gold, just take them. It won't do either of us any good for you to be in pain any longer," she ordered, holding her hand out. Gold titled his head in acceptance and downed the pills without water. She sat down at his feet once again, gently pulling his leg towards her for better access. "Now this is going to hurt," she warned, and began unraveling the ace bandage.

Gold flinched, sucking in a breath of air and immediately clutching his ribs afterwards, as she continued the slow process of unraveling the bandage. Bits of sand and dirt fell to the floor with each layer, creating a small pile of debris on the pristine, cream carpet.

Belle bit her lip, trying to evaluate the best way to doctor his leg. It was greatly discolored and swollen from the bandage being left on for so long, as well as from the injury itself. She still hadn't asked him how she had ended up in this hotel room from the Zodiac, but from the look of the joint, it no doubt involved some heavy strain on his part. What she needed now though, was a way to elevate the leg to dissipate some of this swelling; otherwise, he'd likely be immobile tomorrow.

She looked up from his knee. Gold's eyes were intently fixed on hers, with a strange expression on his face, as if he was nervous over her reaction to his disfigured joint. She tried to put his unease aside with a comforting smile and pushed herself up, using the armrest of his chair to steady herself. "We need to get your leg elevated. Move over to the bed. I'll see if there's any more pillows."

Gold looked at her as if she'd asked him to fly to the moon, his brow creasing in confusion.

Belle, though, simply shook her head at his bewilderment and gestured pointedly over to the bed as she walked into the other room of their two-room suite. This small living room had a couch, desk, but not much else. With little options, she took the smallest cushion off of the couch and returned to the bedroom. Gold had thankfully listened to her and got up on the bed, albeit looking very uncomfortable sitting there, his legs still hanging over the side. She tossed the cushion towards the base of the bed, and retrieved some wet washcloths and towels from the bathroom, along with the bag of ice she'd previously collected from the fridge.

"You're going to have to get _all_ the way on the bed, Gold," she teased, his face tightening in displeasure as he slowly complied without comment. Belle was becoming more and more amused with his utter confusion of someone trying to help him; eight years on the run had clearly messed with his comfort zone. Without asking him, she pulled off his shoes too, earning another look of horror. Really, this was becoming rather fun. "I'm going to have to roll up your pant leg," she announced, giving him fair warning for this small invasion.

"Getting me into your bed and then stripping me down, dearie? One might assume something."

"One might. Of course, you could just take off your pants and make this process a whole lot easier, Gold," she challenged him, daring him.

His tongue flicked out of his lips, wetting them, clearly uncomfortable with either situation: getting undressed or losing a dare. "I'd prefer taking you out to dinner first," he said, leaning forward to roll the pant leg to his thigh himself.

"Such a gentleman. Perhaps another time," she teased back, earning a gulp from Gold. She shook her head in amusement and began work on washing the remaining dirt and sand off his leg.

It was quick work, and she was soon finished, turning her attention to his toes.

"Going for another round, French?" Gold breathlessly asked, gripping the bed's comforter in pain.

"Would you like me to?"

He shook his head, barking out a dry laugh. "How about we'll save that for our morning-after?"

"Dinner _and_ a morning-after torture session? My, Gold, you sure do know how to treat a lady," she laughed, while she delicately removed the bits of sand stuck in his mangled toes.

"Only the best for you, French."

She looked up and matched his smile, noticing the dirtied bandage around his head.

"Did the doctor take a look at your head while he was here?" she asked, moving closer to she could inspect his bandage.

Gold grimaced. "No. He was a little, shall we say, under duress, while he was helping you and then left immediately after."

"What did you do? Kidnap him?"

"Of course not."

"Threaten to kill him?"

"You were going to die, French!"

Belle simply shook her head, peeling off the sodden bandage and carefully washing it with her clean towels. "Thank you, for that. Not the death threat part, but you know…" she trailed off.

Gold nodded, shyly smiling.

"There, all done," she announced, finishing up her work. Much to her relief, it seemed that the drugs were kicking in because Gold didn't seem to be in as much pain as he was. Even still, she tried to use as much care as possible as she positioned his leg atop the stack of pillows, elevating it high above his chest. The only reaction he had was a sharp intake of breath when she placed the ice on his knee. She looked back to check if it was okay, but he just steely nodded back, gesturing for her to continue.

"You'll have to keep that ice pack on for at least twenty minutes," she instructed, grabbing up the extra wet towels and tossing them in the bathroom.

As she turned to leave, she paused, taking note of her appearance in the bathroom mirror. _God, I look like hell._ Her hair was knotted in all directions, crusty and salty from her dunk in the ocean, and her body was covered in a thin film of salt. She looked over at the huge, walk-in shower to her left. So tempting, but with her stitches, though… _Ahh, screw it. _Decided, she closed the door behind her and disrobed, taking off her clothing slowly.

The silky pajamas she was wearing had the hotel's insignia on the label, which answered her lingering question as to how she had come to be clothed in them ever since she'd woken up. Hopefully, Gold had an extra shirt that she could borrow for tomorrow. Her hair, though, was something she could fix right now, so she turned on the shower to full heat.

As she waited for it to heat up, she examined herself in the mirror once again. She looked as if she had been in a car accident, or worse. Dark purple and green bruises blossomed where each of the bullets had hit her leg, shoulder, and chest though the suit— her chest being the worst of the three. That bruise nearly extended the entire width of her rib cage and was incredibly painful, even to the slightest touch. In fact, the only limb not injured in some way was her right leg.

Her left leg was covered in taped, white gauze, which seemed to be at least semi-professional job. Whoever Gold had found seemed to have known what they were doing. Peeling back a small section, Belle peeked, finding a tight row of stitches, much superior to her previous hack job.

The walk-in shower was equipped with a hand-held nozzle option, which was ideally suited so she could shower without getting her leg stitches wet. Steam was soon pouring out from over the glass wall, so Belle stepped in, careful to extend her injured leg out and to the side, resting it on the shower's built-in seat to ensure that it couldn't get wet.

Hot water ran down her head, and Belle couldn't help but let out a groan of pleasure for how good it felt. She simply sat there, under the pounding water, just enjoying the sensation of it across her body. After a while, when she was finally satiated enough to actually wash herself and her hair, she carefully took her time, washing and picking through the knots, taking ample time and care for each thoroughly. She didn't know when she would be able to take a shower again, so she was going to enjoy every minute of this.

Finally, she had to turn off the shower, her fingers had become so pruned that she looked as if she should be in a retirement home. She quickly dried herself, and donned the hotel pajamas again, feeling exhausted, but freshly invigorated at the same time. With no comb at her disposal, she simply used her fingers to slowly, tediously take out the remaining knots.

Looking into the mirror again, Belle felt satisfied that at least she looked like halfway deceit, bruises and stitches aside. She felt immensely better too, the small comfort of a hot shower doing wonders for her.

As soon as she exited the room, she instantly felt Gold's eyes on her. She didn't know how he did that; it was as if he was a predator, always observing, always poised and ready for the attack. Thankfully though, her dangerous companion was still dutifully nursing his leg as she instructed.

"Enjoy your shower?"

"God, yes," Belle smiled, shaking out her hair one last time with her towel. "How's the leg?"

"Cold."

"You don't say. Here, let me see." She walked over, and removed the ice. A quick glance over at the clock surprised her—10:46 p.m.—she had been in the shower for over a half in hour. His red skin was proof enough that the ice had been left on a little too long, but then, it was a small concern in the greater scheme of things, Belle rationalized. She left his leg elevated on the pillows though, hoping that the swelling would decrease overnight.

"Where did you learn this?" Gold quietly asked, breaking the silence.

"Ranger survival training, mostly. And then in the war, we had to treat ourselves in the field. I had a couple knee injuries in my unit. The terrain there, well…let's just say that cliffs, rocks, and 70 pound packs don't mix well."

"You were in the war?"

Belle shook her head, smiling. "I know you read my file, Gold. But yes, I was on the Afghan front for several years."

"You don't look like a soldier."

"Well, you don't look like one either, but that didn't stop either of us now did it?"

"I know they certainly didn't have soldiers that looked like you when I was in the army."

Belle laughed. "Trying to flatter me now, Gold?"

"Just stating the obvious, dearie," he shrugged, his eyes smiling at her.

As she finished tending to his leg, she went about checking all of the windows, and doors, securing each of them. She also checked each of the guns, putting one of each on each nightstand, as well as one underneath her pillow.

With their bedroom as secure as she could make it with the tools provided, Belle turned off the lights, suddenly feeling exhausted and needing to lie down. Gold instantly sat up and tried to leave.

"It's fine, Gold. Stay," she ordered, tiredly holding out her hand as she moved around the bed, in no mood for his chivalry.

"There's a couch in the other room. I'll just sleep there."

Belle ignored him, sliding into the bed on the opposite side, the silky smooth texture of the sheets feeling completely decadent against her newly washed skin. "Gold," she groaned, turning in his direction, "I'm tired and in no mood to argue, so just sleep in the damn bed. It's big enough for the two of us to share."

Even in the darkness, Belle could see his hands fidgeting nervously at her proposal. "I…ah…"

"Christ, all this talk about you wanting me in your bed, and now you're arguing your way out of it. Well, ta-da, I'm here. However," she said grabbing a pillow and dramatically placing it between them, "you cross this line, and I _will _kill you. Understand?"

"Completely."

"All right. Let's go to sleep, then." She rolled over, trying to ignore the smell of his strong cologne invading her nostrils; the smell was an all-too present reminder of his closeness to her, despite the large bed. _Damn, the man smelled good._ She tried to lie there silently, hoping that sleep would take her soon before she became too embarrassingly distracted.

"French?"

Belle rolled over at the sound of Gold's voice, peeking over her large pillow "wall."

"Hmm?"

"I was wrong about you," he whispered.

She blinked, taken aback by his sudden serious sincerity. "Just don't cut me with your knife again."

He chuckled back, "I promise, my dear."

"Good. Good night, Gold," she murmured, quickly rolling back over, completely flustered.

She was nearly asleep when she heard Gold faintly whisper, "Good night, Belle," but she frowned, believing she misheard, and then fell deeply asleep.

…

"French, we have a problem."

Belle stirred at Gold's urgent voice and subsequent door closing. She rubbed her eyes. "Wha…what?" she croaked, her voice still hoarse from sleep. She looked over at the clock nearby—8:29 a.m.

"We've been made. We need to leave. _Now_."

_Shit._ Belle sprang out of bed, her body aching in protest. "I, uh…" she stuttered, looking about the room, suddenly remembering that she had no clothes.

Gold pointed to a brown bag in the corner. "I picked up some items for you yesterday."

"Thanks." Belle hustled over to the bag, wasting no time for modesty and tore off her pajamas, donning a hilariously bright pink cotton shirt, along with white pants. "What happened?" she asked breathlessly, scrambling to pick up their guns from about the room.

Gold was arming himself as well. "A package was delivered here his morning in attention to this room. I walked by it twice. There's a man in the lobby watching it. He's armed too."

"Wait," Belle stopped, her mind finally awakening enough to make sense of the situation. "Who was the package from?"

"French, did you mishear me? There's an armed man watching it. I couldn't walk over and read the label. All I saw were the large numbers written in attention to this room."

"There wasn't a name that it was addressed from?"

"Is there something you're not telling me, French?"

Belle ignored him and went to the hotel phone. The concierge answered before the first ring.

"Carlisle Bay concierge speaking. How may I help you today?"

"Yes, hello. I'm in suite 226 and I'm waiting for a package to be delivered to this room. I just wanted to check and see If it had arrived yet."

"One minute ma'am."

Gold stormed over and tried to wrench the phone from her hands. "We don't have time for this, French. What are you _doing_?"

"Ma'am?" the concierge came back on the line.

"Yes?" Belle replied, as she continued to wrestle for control of the phone with Gold, finally capturing him in a head hold, choking him.

"I have a package here addressed in attention to your suite, with a note to deliver it to Bonnet. Is this the package that you were expecting?"

_How the hell had he…?_ "Yes," Belle replied, batting away Gold's hands again. "That's mine. I'll be down shortly to pick it up."

"It's rather large, ma'am. I can have it delivered to your room."

"No, it's fine. I'll get it myself. Thank you."

"Of course. Have a splendid day, ma'am."

Belle hung up the phone, releasing a snarling Gold, who pushed himself away from her.

"Care to explain what the hell is going on, French?" Gold spat, his eyes narrowed in a death glare.

Belle ignored him. "It's safe—it's from an asset of mine."

"Oh, well in that case, by all means, let's go open it," he airily mocked her, gesturing with his hands.

"Gold—"

"Have you forgotten about our little Russian problem, dearie? What's to say that your package is not from them? Not to mention that there's an armed man guarding it."

Belle paused. He was right, of course. "What do you propose? No one else can open that package."

"This asset of yours—can you confirm with him the package's delivery?"

She looked at her phone, debating it. She'd already called Jefferson once yesterday out of desperation; she didn't want to risk involving him again, especially if there was a mole within Langley listening in. Finally, she shook her head. "No, I can't risk it."

"Well, then—"

"Wait!" she stopped him, holding out her hand. "I have an idea." Gold cursed under his breath as she picked up the hotel phone again, dialing the front desk.

"Front desk."

"This is suite 226 again, and I just realized that my phone doesn't work down here. Is there somewhere that I may purchase a disposable phone?"

"Why, yes, ma'am. I can have one brought up to your room if you like, or I may arrange for a car to take you to into St. John's. There are many shops there for you to find what you need."

Gold, who was listening in to the conversation, mouthed "car" to her.

"I'd prefer a car, please."

"Right away, ma'am," the man brightly replied.

"And if it isn't too much trouble," Belle added, "may I rent one for the day? I prefer to drive myself."

"That won't be a problem either, ma'am. Simply come to the front desk."

Belle returned the phone to its cradle, and looked over at Gold. "Well?"

He shrugged. "It's worth a try, but I'm coming with you."

"Of course."

"We shouldn't come back here."

"But the package—"

"Don't worry, my dear, we'll come back for your precious package."

"Well, if it is what I think it is, we have to. I asked him to make us some covers. I don't have one anymore."

Gold furrowed his brow. "_Us?_ You gave him my information?"

"Just enough so he would be able to make a proper cover. I didn't know if you had one after we left so soon."

"I, ah…no, I don't," he frowned, patting his pockets for the missing id. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, now let's get going. I want to get off this damn island."

Gold holstered his gun in the small of his back, smoothing down his large tropical shirt over it. "After you, Miss French," he said, holding the door for her.

…

The trip into town only took little over an hour, thanks to Belle's speedy driving, which Gold either admired or despised, depending on what he meant when he called her a "bloody, fucking race car driver." Belle had taken it as a compliment.

St. John's was a large enough city that they were able to conceal themselves fairly easily in the morning tourist-shopping crowd, especially in their bright, touristy clothing. Gold had kept watch as Belle had purchased a cheap, disposable cell at the first shop they visited. While it wouldn't be encrypted, it would be nearly impossible to trace.

Halfway back to the hotel, Belle pulled over to call Jefferson, sneaking a quick glance at the car's clock—10:47 a.m. Even though it was nearly 3 p.m. London time, the odds that her favorite asset would be awake at this hour were fairly slim, but she couldn't wait.

_**Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.**_ "You have reached the voicemail of—"

Belle clicked the phone off with a groan. She looked over at Gold, who was using his knife to carve the side of his sunglasses. "What are you doing?"

He simply raised his eyebrows, showing off his creation with pride. "This? You've never seen a sunglass shiv before? It's quite useful. You see, you just have to take them off and then you can stab your assailant through the eye. Pierces straight through the brain cavity."

"Lovely."

"Would you like me to do yours?"

Belle shrugged. _"_Ah, hell, sure." They were just a cheap pair she bought anyways.

Gold looked so pleased with her answer, that he abandoned his pair in favor of hers. _Gold and his damn knifes,_ she laughed to herself, rolling her eyes at his intense concentration as she called Jefferson again.

_**Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring.**_ "Ah…hello?" a familiar, bored voice on the other line responded.

"Harrison!"

"Hello, love. Whom am I speaking to?"

"It's Bonnet."

"Bonnet!" he exclaimed, instantly brightening. "Forgive me. I just woke up. How are you? I've been just wrecked ever since you called me yesterday. All alone, stuck in my house, while you're out there—"

"Harrison!" she snapped.

"Yes, my love. At your service."

Gold stopped his work, overhearing that sentiment, and pointedly lifted his eyebrow in Belle's direction. She slapped his forearm, gesturing for him to continue his work. "I received a package here yesterday. It's addressed to Bonnet. Did you send it?"

"I did! Weren't you surprised? I flew it down there myself, or rather, my plane did, so you would get it in time."

"Harrison…" She didn't know where to start—either how he knew where she was, or that he couldn't just send "surprise" packages to her without notice. She decided to start with the former. "How did you know where I was?"

"Oh, I, uh…now don't be mad at me, Bonnet, but I sort of developed a real-time decryption device. But I sent one to you one though. I just had to test it out and—"

"Jefferson?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't do that again."

"Yes. No more eavesdropping. I swear."

She sighed, waving off Gold's frantic mouthing of "who the fuck is that."

"Now, could you describe the package, Jefferson? I need to make sure that it is from you and wasn't tampered with."

"March isn't there with it?"

"March? Who is March?"

"My head of security. I had him personally deliver it and ensure you received it. He should be in the lobby."

_Right. The man watching Gold._ "Could you send me a picture of him? I'll send you an email address."

"Of course, Bonnet. I must say, thank you for thinking of me. This is so exciting."

Gold motioned for her to wrap it up.

"Where is it from—your shipping address?"

He quickly recited his Kensington Park address that Belle knew by heart. Gold wasn't the only one with a photographic memory.

"Thank you, Jefferson. I need to go now."

"Of course, Agent Bonnet. I'll be waiting for your next assignment."

Belle laughed at his matter-of-fact tone as she disconnected the call, suspecting that Jefferson would no doubt wait by the phone until her next call, which hopefully wouldn't come.

"My _love_? Why Agent French, is there someone that you haven't told me about?" Gold wirily teased as he continued to work on her sunglasses.

"Why? Are you jealous?"

He grinned, turning his head to meet her eyes for a long moment, before sniffing his lip in disgust. "No."

"Hmm…" she teased back, narrowing her eyes. "Take care of this for me?" she asked flipping her phone towards him as she started the car again.

Gold grabbed the phone from her, breaking it with his bare hands and tossing it out the window. "Well, Bonnet, I believe your love has a package for us to pick up."

_Oh, hell._ Belle rolled her eyes, speeding away, to Gold's smirking face, getting more pleased with himself.

…

"Who the hell is this asset, again?"

"Oh, _now _you're taking him seriously."

Gold lovingly inspected the prototype submachine gun. "Well, I can see why you're sleeping with him."

"For the last time, I'm _not _sleeping with him. He's my asset!"

"Of course."

Belle huffed in frustration at his airy tone; he'd been insufferable in his teasing ever since she had hung up the phone on their way back to the hotel. "For chrissakes, Gold, stop playing with the guns and help me pack this up." Also while they were in St. John's, they had purchased several pieces of luggage to take along, more for their cover identities than anything, but after unveiling what Jefferson had sent them, the purchase was looking more and more essential.

Contained in the large brown box, were three cover dossiers for Belle, along with two more for Gold. Each of their covers had a separate envelope with passports, credit cards, photoshopped photos, and business cards. She'd never seen such extensive work done in such short of time. Knowing Jefferson, he had been working on hers ever since she'd met him, but Gold's was just as extensive, proving that maybe he did have a talent for this. In addition to the paperwork, he included his latest "inventions": two submachine guns, two semiautomatic pistols, several knives, and various other electronics with handwritten instructions taped on them.

"Oh, look, French, your lover left a you a note." Gold said, teasingly holding up a folded piece of paper addressed to Bonnet, which Belle quickly snatched away.

She opened it, revealing a note written in loopy, nearly illegible script.

_yM tseraeD tennoB,_

_I ma os yppah ot raeh taht ym tius dekrow os yldidnelps rof uoy. I wenk uoy dluoc ekam ti krow. esaelP tpecca ym stfig, gnola htiw eht noitamrofni uoy detseuqer. I dah ym nam, yrraH hcraM, yfirev lla eerht seititnedi dna eh syas taht yeht era lla yletelpmoc elbailer. esaelP yats efas dna tisiv noos. nodnoL si yllufdaerd gnirob tuohtiw uoy._

_- tnegA rettaH_

Belle sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose, so Jefferson was trying to "code" his messages now. She grabbed a piece of paper, and went to work decoding his flipped words. Gold made no show of hiding his interest in the note, reading her decoded words over her shoulder, while playing with a new knife.

_My dearest Bonnet,_

_I am so happy to hear that my suit worked so splendidly for you. I knew you could make it work. Please accept my gifts, along with the information you requested. I had my man, Harry March, verify all three identities and he says that they are all completely reliable. Please stay safe and visit soon. London is dreadfully boring without you._

_- Agent Hatter_

_Agent _Hatter_? Oh, dear lord. _Jefferson was giving himself nicknames now. She could hear Gold snickering behind her, and shot a half-hearted glare over her shoulder. He was looking down, playing with the blade, trying to hide his smirk. A quick click sounded and the blade instantly folded out into two.

"Hell no," she groaned.

"He did ask us to accept his gifts."

She tried to snatch the blade away, but Gold childishly placed it behind his back. "Fine," she grumbled in resignation. She was too tired to deal with him. She walked over to the window of their new hotel room that they had checked into after picking up the box. The picturesque view was beautiful, but Belle had never felt so discouraged. She was at a complete loss of how to start. "So what now?"

"What do you mean?"

Belle turned to her side, leaning against the wall, splaying her hands out to the side. "Where do we go from here?

Gold looked up from his examination of the modified switchblade, casually shrugging his shoulders. "This is your show, dearie, I'm simply along for the ride."

"Oh, screw you, Gold. Just tell me—where do we go from here? I'm in no mood for your games, and we can't stay here."

"Obviously."

Belle felt like punching him. "For once, can you just _try _not to be a sarcastic asshole and answer the question?"

"It depends."

"On what."

"On what the question is, of course."

Belle glared, clenching her fist, suddenly wanting nothing more than to smack that cocky grin off his face. "What the question is? How about you—"

_**Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.**_

Her phone shrilly buzzed, the tone indicating an important text. She growled in irritation as she picked it up, placing her finger on the keypad to awaken the phone.

—_Blanchard: URGENT— Positive ID for Gold at FirstCaribbean International Bank ATM, Market Street, St. John's, Antigua. Call immediately for transportation. Also positively ID'd at CCTV feed this morning at 10 a.m.—_

"Fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. We need to get out of here."

Gold stood up bewildered, but Belle ignored him in favor of hastily zipping up their suitcases. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. _If they had been identified hours ago, then they had been likely followed, and if they were followed, then they saw her with Gold, and….

"French!" Gold yelled, firmly grabbing her shoulders. "What is going on?"

"We were spotted—_you_ were spotted here. An _hour_ ago. They, uh, we have to leave—" she breathlessly said, handing him his cane while she grabbed their bag of guns. _The guns!_ How were they supposed to take the guns with them?

"French," he calmly said, still holding her shoulder. "Breathe. Now, tell me what it said."

She gulped, trying to still her racing heartbeat. Apparently, the reality of being caught with a wanted man hadn't quite settled in yet. "Blanchard just texted me. They identified you off of an ATM machine and CCTV today."

"But they're not here yet."

"I don't know. Probably. If Mills is behind this, then I'd expect that she would send someone down here. And if they saw me with you, then she knows—"

"What are you going to do?"

"I, uh..." she trailed off, at a loss for what to do.

Gold nodded, releasing her shoulder, resigned. "It's okay, French. I understand. Give me a five-minute head start, though?"

Belle looked at him in shock. He thought she was going to kill him? _Now?_ After everything they'd been through? "What? No, wait," she protested, but he was already slowly edging away from her.

"I understand, dearie. You shouldn't risk your career for the likes of someone like me."

"Gold," she interjected, knowing at once that what she was doing was the right thing—the _brave_ thing—before the words left her lips. "What are you talking about? I'm not turning you in."

Now it was his turn to look shocked and he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes warily searching her face.

"Just tell me where to go. We have to get out of here."

He gulped, nodding. "We need to get to Siena."

"What's in Siena?"

"Where we start."

…

**_Update 8-2-12:_ **

**Hi everyone, I got a couple recent reviews wondering when the next chapter is coming and I just wanted to drop a little note in here to let you know that I'm almost finished with it. I've just been out of town for the past two weeks and write slow :) I hope to have it up by this weekend at the latest. Sorry to keep you waiting!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Hi everyone! Once again, I'm so sorry for making you wait so long for an update. I've been out of town and I write slow—unfortunately, not a very good combination for a story of this size. However, all of your reviews really keep me going and encourage me to write, so thank you! I haven't been able to respond to all of your reviews from the last chapter yet, but please be assured that I appreciate each and every one of them! Hope you enjoy this next chapter :)**

* * *

_**Click.**_

_**Click.**_

_**Click, click.**_

"_Stop!"_

Gold instantly froze in the seat beside Belle, his finger hovering ominously over his new switchblade's release, clutched in his hand.

Belle's teeth clenched nearly to their breaking point as she glared at him. He had been playing with that damn knife ever since they had left their hotel room. With her nerves already at their fraying point, Belle couldn't withstand one more of his "clicks" in the otherwise silent space of their car.

His eyes, however, showed no fear of her wrath. Rather, they were simply alight with amusement as he continued to hold her gaze, challenging her. A slow grin crept across his face, as he raised the knife, angling it away from her. _**Click.**_

"I swear to God!" Belle lunged across the center console, slamming his body against the side of the door as she grabbed both of his wrists, bending the one holding the knife at a precarious angle. "Let. Go," she growled, struggling for control.

Gold grimaced, barking out a dry laugh, as he fought against her chokehold. "Say, 'please'."

Belle bared her teeth, bending his wrist back more, but Gold didn't relent, maintaining his steel grip on the knife. "Give me the knife," she ordered again.

"Ask nicely," he wheezed, forcing out the words as he twisted his body to try and relieve the pressure off of his wrist.

Belle dug her nails into his skin. "Let. Go."

Gold simply grinned back at her, his face a portrait of stone-cold determination.

She knew that with one twist she could break his damn wrist in two. One simple twist. But she also knew that they couldn't withstand another injury between the two of them. "Fine," she relented. "Please."

Gold instantly released the knife from his hold. The large weapon bounced against the leather seat and landed at his feet.

His smug, satisfied smirk made her want to cold-cock him, but she restrained herself, quickly picking up the knife and tossing it into the backseat before he could make a comment about her head being practically in his lap.

"Do you really think that that is the best decision, dearie?"

"What?"

Gold shrugged. "We might need it."

"And I might kill you if you play with it anymore."

"I wasn't playing with it."

"Really? Then, what was that? Testing the release a thousand times to make sure it works?"

"Did they ever conduct sensitivity training with you, French?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in challenge. "Hmm?"

Belle clenched her fists, using every bit of her willpower not give into his taunts. "You're making it _really_ hard for me not to kill you right now."

Gold tipped his head to the side, splaying his hands out in front of him, as if taken aback by her anger. "I was simply making conversation."

"Right." She turned away, unable to look at him anymore. They had a task to perform here. She couldn't waste her energy fighting with Gold.

"To your credit, you lasted nearly three hours longer than I thought you would."

_Oh, for godssakes._ Belle quickly swung her arm around and punched him in the shoulder. Gold flinched in pain, but his grin only widened at her violent reaction. Belle glared, turning away once again, inwardly furious with herself to be led on so easily. She_ never_ broke—a fact that she was fiercely proud of—and here she was losing her temper over a few clicks of a pen. It was unacceptable.

"Have you ever gotten a new weapon, French?" he continued beside her, undeterred. "A gun? Knife?" He paused, pointedly waiting until she turned back around to face him. "You can't take a new weapon into the field without using it, developing a feel for it. You and your weapon need to be one; you need to be connected to it, to know instantly how to use it and where everything is. It needs to be—"

"Cut the bullshit, Gold. I'm not back on the Farm. It's just a knife, not a MP5."

"It doesn't make a difference."

Belle closed her eyes in irritation, turning her attention back outside, before she got drawn into yet _another _argument with Gold.

Outside, the night was still and quiet. A low fog had descended upon the Severn River, creating a peaceful ambiance, with the homes' lights lining the river, creating a misty glow.

"Are you sure that he's there?"

"Yes," Belle whispered back, knowing without a doubt that her father would be home, as she looked through the small binoculars towards the white colonial home on the opposite side of the river. The Annapolis house had once been a weekend retreat for her father when he worked out of the Pentagon. Now, semi-retired, the General spent most of his days at the riverside home, either tending to his beloved sailboat, or fishing.

A light suddenly turned on inside house, illuminating her father walking around in the kitchen. Satisfied that she had indeed come to the right place, Belle started up the car and began to slowly driving down the picturesque road, checking her rear-view mirror for any tails.

"Are you sure about this, French?"

"Do you have any better suggestions?" she retorted, harsher than she intended. "He's the only one I trust. He can help us."

"I highly doubt that he's going to want to help a man like me, French," he scoffed.

Belle shook her head, quickly glancing over at her father's home through the passing trees. "He's my father. He'll listen to me—to us." She continued to drive, quietly thinking to herself, her mind a jumble of emotions, plans, and strategies. "I don't know where else we can go," she quietly admitted after a long moment. "We don't have many options."

Gold nodded, humming noncommittally as he looked out at the side-view mirror on his side.

They soon arrived in front of the grand, white colonial home. Belle parked the car several houses down to keep a safe distance in case they were being followed. So far, though, she hadn't spotted anyone.

Satisfied that they were indeed alone, Belle unclicked her seat belt, taking one last glance in the mirrors as she holstered her gun. "Stay here."

"And do what exactly?"

"What you do best, Gold—kill anyone who gets near you."

"You don't trust me to meet your dear, old father, French?"

_No, _she thought, simply handing him a gun in reply instead. "Cover the area. Alert me if there's a problem. Can you do that?"

"I suppose I could manage."

"Good. I'll be back soon."

Without waiting to hear his smart aleck reply, Belle quickly stepped out of the car, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. The area was completely silent, albeit for a soft buzzing from a streetlight down the road. Moving swiftly, Belle crossed the street, pulling her ball cap further down on her head to obscure her features.

Her father's doorstep was brightly lit, which troubled Belle, but the knowledge that he was inside slightly quelled her nagging fear. She walked up the steps, ringing the doorbell once before stepping back, pressing herself against a white pillar to obscure her form from the street. Lights suddenly turned on in succession, within the home, marking her father's path to the door.

His loud footsteps paused on the opposite side of the door for a long moment, before the grand mahogany door swung open, revealing her father, dressed in his customary boating attire.

"Belle!"

Belle rushed forward to embrace her father. "Papa," she whispered, pressing herself tightly into his embrace.

"Well, this is an unexpected surprise! I didn't know you were in town, otherwise I would've invited you down." He motioned her inside, closing the door behind her. "So what brings you here, m'dear? Are you on assignment?"

Belle's enthusiasm dampened at the reminder of why she was here. "I need to talk to you about something."

Her father instantly took notice of her grave attitude. "What's wrong?" he asked worriedly, gesturing for her to join him in the kitchen.

"I think I've made a huge mistake, Papa," Belle admitted, sitting down on one of the barstools as he poured her a cup of coffee. She instantly felt as if she was a child again, ready to admit her wrongdoing and hear her punishment. "I…" she trailed off, unsure of where to start, gesturing helplessly with her hands.

"How about you start at the beginning?" Maurice gently offered, sitting down on the bar stool opposite of hers.

Her nerves threatened to overwhelm her as she began her tale, starting with her assignment up to their arrival at his house, leaving out no detail. Throughout the whole retelling, her father sat completely still, taking in every word, without interruption. Finally, Belle had no more to say, and hid her face in her hands.

"Where is he now?"

Belle looked up, expecting to see disappointment, but instead, only saw concern on her father's face. "Outside," she quietly admitted.

"You brought him here?"

"I didn't know what else to do, Papa," she lamented. "They'll kill him if they find him, and if what he's saying is indeed true, then I need him alive. I can't let them kill him."

"Well, that's reassuring to hear."

Belle turned around towards the familiar Scottish brogue, seeing Gold standing in the doorway, with his hands folded neatly over his cane.

"General French," he bowed.

"Why did you leave the car?"

"General, what type of car does your neighbor own?" he asked, ignoring Belle's question.

Her father frowned. "A Land Rover, I believe? They're not there though. They rent it out for the summer as a vacation home."

"Is there someone there now?"

"No."

Gold moved quickly, turning off the lights. "They're here."

A sharp pang of fear shot through Belle, knowing instantly whom he was referring to. "What? How do you know?"

"There's a car parked next door, and two black SUVs just parked five houses down a couple minutes ago. No one exited the cars."

"How did they find us?" Belle asked, unholstering her gun, while moving towards the center of the room. She took out her cell phone, switching it to her app that detected any wireless signals emitting from the area, but it showed, as she suspected, nothing nearby. They wouldn't be that careless. Without any sort of motion detectors in place, as she had in Antigua, they were essentially blind to the outside.

"Doesn't matter," Gold retorted. "What's our next move?"

Belle looked out the window, calculating the distance to the docks, versus chancing a run to the car. Both options could be blocked. "I…I don't know," she admitted, stricken that she couldn't think of anything. Why couldn't she just_ think_? She should_ know_ this, yet her mind was completely blank.

"Belle," her father addressed her, grabbing her by the shoulders, "you need to leave. Now. I can handle myself here. You need to get away."

"I can't leave you here. You don't understand—they'll kill you. You know too much. I shouldn't have told you." Frustrated, she ran her hand through her hair. "I shouldn't have come here. I'm so sorry, Papa."

"Phones are dead," Gold announced from across the kitchen, clicking a new clip into his Sig. "We need to leave."

"Take her," Maurice commanded, turning to Gold. "Keep her safe."

"Papa, I'm not going to—"

_**CRASH!**_

Belle whirled around at the sound of the window shattering, bringing her gun up into a shooting stance. "Papa, get behind me," she ordered, crouching behind the island, searching out targets. "Here, I have an extra gun." She extended the gun behind her in her father's direction. He didn't take it though.

"Papa?" She turned around. Her father was slumped behind her, against the white wooden cabinets, a red streak of blood marking his path to the floor. A small, red dot bloomed in the center of his forehead. "_Papa!"_ she screamed, rushing over to him.

"French!" Gold grabbed her from behind, pulling her back away from her father.

"No!" she yelled, fighting back against him. "No, no."

His grip was surprisingly strong, and he wretched her back. "You can't help him. We need to get out of here, French."

"Papa," she cried, quickly losing the strength to fight back, going slack in his arms. "No."

"French, we need to leave. Come on."

"Yes, French, you need to leave."

Belle froze in Gold's grip at the sound of Mills' voice. Both of them jumped up in unison, drawing their guns at the SOC director, who was casually leaning up against the wall.

"My, my, what do we have here?" Mills said, smiling menacingly, raising her own gun and pointing it at Belle's chest. "A traitor and his little protector. How cute. You disappoint me, French. I thought that you would've been able to carry out a simple mission, but alas, here we are."

"You killed him," Belle spat back, lunging forward, her blind rage overwhelming her. Gold swung one arm in front of her, blocking her path to the director.

"Me?" Mills gasped, holding her hand to her chest in feigned innocence. "No, I believe that that was all your doing, French. _You_ led us here. _You_ failed him. His Brave. Little. Belle," she purred, venom lacing each of her words.

"Fuck you," Belle growled, pointing her gun at Mills' head.

Mills raised her eyebrows. "Are you going to shoot me, Agent?"

Belle swallowed hard, her finger quivering on the trigger.

She smiled, tipping her head, mocking her. "I thought not—"

_**Click.**_ Belle gasped in surprise at the failed shot, pulling the trigger again. _**Click**_. It jammed again.

Mills laughed. "You thought that you could just kill me? Oh dear, whatever has he been telling you?"

Gold pulled Belle protectively closer to him, shielding her body with his own.

"Aww, why isn't this sweet. Such a shame that I have to kill you now."

_**Click.**_

Regina smiled at Gold's malfunctioning weapon and pulled her trigger. Time seemed to slow down as the resulting bang echoed loudly throughout the room. Gold launched himself at Belle and they crashed on top of each other on the hard, tile floor.

Gold looked up from underneath Belle, his eyes wide with pain. She shifted her weight off of him, pulling her hand out from between them and gasped—it was covered in bright, red blood. He cried out in pain at her movement, and a trail of blood gurgled down his cheek from his lips. _No, no, no..._

Belle reacted quickly, pressing her hands to his chest, trying in vain to stop the bleeding. _No, no, no… _

"That's what you should've done, French," Mills sneered, pressing her gun to the back of Belle's head. "Now, tell me what he told you, or else you'll be joining him."

Belle didn't reply. She was too focused on Gold. He was trying to tell her something, moving his eyes frantically downward, directing her towards something.

"Oh, what am I saying?" Mills airily continued, "I'm going to shoot you anyways."

_Knife_, Gold mouthed.

Belle instantly understood, rolling to the side to grab his large, new switchblade out of his belt. Mills shot at her, but it ricocheted off to the side, missing Belle's head by inches.

Undeterred, she shot again, this time hitting Belle in her right shoulder. Hot daggers of pain tore through her body, radiating from the wound, but Belle fought through it, lunging at Mills' legs, and slicing her Achilles with Gold's knife.

Mills howled in pain. "You bitch!" she screamed, firing again.

The shot went wild, and Belle took the advantage, jumping up to tackle her. Their combined weight propelled them through the room and into a glass table, which instantly shattered underneath them.

"You killed my father," Belle yelled, digging her knife into Mills' throat. "You killed him!"

"French!"

Belle gritted her teeth, pressing the knife deeper, blood beading in a thin line at the blade's edge.

"French!" she yelled again, but the tone was wrong. Her voice sounded like…Gold?

Mills twisted in her grip, grabbing by her shoulders, shaking her hard. "French!"

The shaking continued, harder, and Belle blinked, confused at hearing Gold's voice.

"French!" Gold yelled again, this time louder and in her ear.

Belle's eyes shot open, but she wasn't in her father's kitchen—she was in a plane cabin, clutching Gold by the throat as he shook her shoulders. She immediately released him, shrinking back from his touch, as her chest continued to heave from her vivid dream. "What?" she whispered in confusion, her voice scratchy from sleep

"You were having a dream," he said, soothingly rubbing her arm. "It was just a dream."

"I'm sorry," she apologized fervently, embarrassment quickly overriding her confusion. It all came back to her quickly—their escape to the Antigua airport via Jefferson's security man, and their subsequent departure in a plane they chartered. "I'm so sorry."

"It's no matter," he quickly replied, releasing her and returning to his seat opposite of her.

"I was—"

"There's no need to explain, French."

Despite his nonchalance, she felt her face flush further in embarrassment. Unable to face him, she hid her red face by pretending to look intently out the window.

"The monitor says that we're twenty minutes out. We should be landing soon."

Belle nodded in acknowledgement, while continuing to look outside at the Italian countryside below them. She tried to focus on the golden fields of grain peaking through the white clouds, willing her heart to slow down. She hadn't had a nightmare that realistic in months, and to have it in front of Gold of all people…_God_. And his neck? She could've killed him. She looked back over at him; his throat was still red, with distinct marks showing where she held his throat. "Are you okay?"

He looked over at her, confused.

She grimaced in embarrassment, motioning to his neck.

"Nothing to worry yourself about, my dear," he said, waving off her concern, his mask of indifference once again replacing the worry that had been there a moment before. "I'll be sure to keep my distance when I wake you up next time."

Belle groaned, burying her head in her hands. "I didn't know…I'm so sorry."

"Sorry enough to give me my money back?"

She looked up from her hands; Gold was smirking at her, his eyes full of mirth.

"A little of it, perhaps?"

"I already did!"

"A little more certainly wouldn't hurt."

Belle smiled back, shaking her head. "We made a deal."

"Call this a renegotiation, then."

"No deal."

Gold sat back in his seat, the grin never leaving his face. "Very well. Can't blame a fellow for trying. Even if you did almost just kill me." He paused, looking at her expectantly.

"I'm _sorry_—

"And even if you did tie me up and somewhat torture me, _after _you shot me—"

"You're really going to try and guilt-trip me into giving it back to you?"

"Yes. Of course."

"No, you're not," she protested, half-laughing. "You deserved all of that. You could have just come out and told me what was going on, but no, you just _had_ to hold out."

"Have you ever heard of trying to protect someone for their own good?

"You were trying to protect me?" she said doubtfully, raising an eyebrow.

Gold blinked hard twice, shaking his head in offense. "But, of course."

"Right." Belle tipped her head, rolling her eyes. "Information first—money second. That's the deal."

He sat back in his chair, looking at her appraisingly. "You strike a hard bargain, French."

"A hard bargain? Not killing you in exchange for your cooperation would be a hard bargain. I'm letting you off easy."

"And why is that?"

"Why is what?"

"Why are you letting me off easy; trusting me to cooperate? You do know that if I don't, you'll be finished. This sort of mistake blemishes an operative's record forever. You'll be sent straight to a desk job or worse as soon as you get home."

Belle was momentarily taken aback by his sudden menacing tone. "Not if you're telling the truth, I won't."

"And you're willing to take that chance."

"I believe I already have."

"Indeed."

"Why do you keep doing that?"

Gold looked at her, confused. "Do what, dearie?"

"Keep threatening me whenever I imply trusting you."

"Because you shouldn't trust me."

"Why not?" she challenged back, feeling emboldened. "Are you lying to me?"

He swallowed, his cold eyes narrowing, staring back at her.

"Hmm?"

"No. I'm not," he quietly forced out, his discomfort flashing across his face.

"Then, why shouldn't I trust you?" she replied back, trying to be as kind as she could in her tone.

He closed his eyes in disgust. "Because I'm not a good man, French. And you're…"

"A saint?" she finished, in jest. Gold nodded back, earning a self-depreciating sigh from Belle. "Gold, do you know what my assignment was before this?" She paused, waiting until he looked up and met her eye. "I was in Karachi, in a hidey-hole for two months, before I shot and killed all five of my targets. Before that, I was in Bangkok, taking out three more. I could go on and on. Does that sound like a saint to you?"

"Wait—" she said, holding out her hand, sensing that he wanted to interject. "I know that you've probably done some horrible things in your life, but I have too. It's the nature of what we are. But you're not a bad man, Gold, even if you have done those things. If you were, then you would've left me to die out there on the ocean. God knows that I've given you enough reasons to do so. And don't give me that bullshit excuse about your money either." She paused, before continuing. "All I want from you is your word that you are telling me the truth about Mills. The rest doesn't matter to me."

Her passionate speech seemed to have rendered him quite speechless and it took him a moment to recover. "I am telling you the truth on that particular matter. But French," he said, pained, "you shouldn't come any farther with me. I'll get you the information—I give you my word on that, but if you're seen with me…" he trailed off, gesturing helplessly with his hands.

"I know."

"But _why_? Why take the risk?"

"Because it's right. Because I feel like it's the right thing to do. And I'm not going to let someone kill you because Mills is behind it."

Gold shook his head, in disbelief and disgust, clearly uncomfortable with her decision. "You shouldn't throw your trust around so easily."

"I don't," she replied quickly. And truthfully. She had never done something like this in her life, yet there was just something inside her telling her that this was the right thing to do.

He looked over at her, the flash of pain crossing his features yet again, before his expression turned hard. "You should leave once we land and forget that you ever met me."

"And _that's_ how I know that you're not a bad man," she smiled warmly at him, enjoying the momentary shock on his face. "I've discovered that evil men aren't concerned with such matters." His shock turned to exasperation, and she continued before he could say anything further on the matter. "Now, that _that's_ settled—what's our plan for when we land?"

…

"I need to stipulate that when we make a plan next time, we take the train."

Belle revved the engine in response, taking another hairpin turn with only a slight ease off the throttle, gunning past another slow, pedestrian driver. She laughed, looking over at Gold, who was gripping the Audi's handle with white-knuckles.

"Enjoying yourself, French?"

She simply smiled at him in response. She was having a blast. Gold had given her leave to go and boost whatever car she wanted to once they had touched down in Parma. A longtime fan of anything and everything fast, Belle had wasted no time in finding the fastest car in the FBO's parking lot. After one quick switch of the license plate, they were off, stopping only to switch cars with an Audi she found in Bologna. For the first time in days, Belle felt like she was having fun.

"You are going to tell me what's in Siena eventually, right?"

Gold shifted back in his seat, bracing for the next turn. "All in good time, m'dear."

"Well, we're nearly there, so you're going to have to tell me where to go."

"_I _could drive us there."

"You said that I could drive."

"A rare misstep in my judgment, I confess."

"Excuse me, but I believe that we've made it here in two hours, instead of three, thanks to my driving."

"And have broken the sound barrier twice, if I recall correctly," Gold drily retorted.

One quick shift into fourth, and Belle floored the gas pedal again, pinning him back to his seat. "You should see what I can do in a real car."

"Yes, I have noticed your affinity for stealing high-end vehicles."

"Borrowing," she corrected. "I'm just borrowing them. Simply taking them out for a spin is all. I return them all in perfectly good condition."

Gold scoffed, mumbling incoherently in reply towards the window.

"Aww, come on, Gold. Admit it, you're impressed."

"I'm not unimpressed by your driving, French."

She looked over, ready to tease him back, but saw that he was quite serious, quietly looking at her with a strange intensity. Suddenly uncomfortable with their proximity, Belle threw the car into another tight turn, eliciting a sharp curse from Gold. Belle simply laughed. She was enjoying herself, speeding along the open road. Around every mile, she would take note of the cars around her, keeping a lookout for any tails, but the traffic they encountered was scant at best at this early morning hour, and she could detect no "eyes" following them.

Several minutes later, a sign for Siena appeared along the side of the road. "Gold, should I…?"

"Keep driving," he ordered, motioning with his hand forward.

"I thought that we were going to Siena."

He motioned his hand again. "Keep driving, we have a bit farther to go."

A "bit farther" turned out to be nearly fifty kilometers farther, down an old, country road, that had Belle questioning Gold's sense of direction several times. Dawn had barely broken over the horizon, making it seem as if they were driving into an endless abyss of fields. However, her new companion seemed to share none of her concerns as he simply sat comfortably in the chair beside her, closing his eyes, resting undisturbed until she pestered him for further directions when she came to each intersection.

She was nearly ready to ask him again if they were lost when he suddenly opened his eyes, looking out at the road.

"Ahh, we're here."

"Here?" Belle saw nothing but tall, thick shrubbery surrounding them on either side of the two-lane road, but Gold motioned for her to pull off to the side. He stepped out of the car, pressing his hand into a tall wall of bushes. She could hear a loud creaking of metal, and then the tall wall moved aside, revealing a hidden road.

He stepped back into the car, with a proud smirk on his face.

"Alright," she conceded, "that was pretty impressive."

Gold simply chuckled in response. "Just up ahead, French."

Belle quirked her brow, and did as he instructed, slowly driving along the gravel driveway. She took her time, inspecting the impressive grounds as she passed the endless grove of olive trees and grape vines, followed by a large, manicured garden.

The road winded farther up the hill, twisting around until it reached the top, revealing a massive estate, composed of several large inter-connected tan, stone buildings, surrounded by impressive landscaping and white statues.

"What is this place?" Belle asked in wonder, putting the car into park in the circular driveway, in front of the largest of the three buildings. She stepped out, squinting her eyes in the bright morning sun that was peaking over the edge of the building, to try and take in the immensity of the place.

"My estate."

She gawked at his answer, continuing to walk around, so she could inspect the view. From its hilltop position, one could see for miles. The warm hues of the early morning sun brightened the dew on all the plants and made them look as if they were sparkling. It was magical. "You own this place?"

Gold limped over to her side, slyly grinning. "I do, indeed."

"It's beautiful."

"Thank you."

She continued to walk further down the stone walkway, around the U-shaped estate, so she could view the "backyard." "Do you live here?"

"Trying to get me to unveil all my secrets, now that you're in my lair, dearie?"

"Your lair? No, I was simply thinking that I may be moving in here once this is all over," she laughed, spotting a large pool on a terrace below.

"Well, as it so happens, I'm in need of a caretaker. Interested?"

Belle turned, meeting his mischievous eyes. "Perhaps," she teased. "Let's see what sort of evidence you have for me first."

"Ahh, always business first, French?"

"Unfortunately," she shrugged. "I may have to ask you for a tour of your gardens later, though."

His expression perked up at the mention of the garden, but he quickly hid his face in a nod. "I believe that could be arranged."

"I'm looking forward to it," she replied, genuinely. She always had a special place in her heart for gardens, and these looked spectacular.

"Well, shall we get to it then?"

"After you," she motioned, following him through an antique-looking wooden door. The large room's high arched ceiling was decorated with polished wooden beams, which contrasted against the white walls and terra cotta-tiled floor. "What was this place?"

"A Norman castle, and later a monastery, I believe," he replied, without losing a beat, his cane echoing loudly in the cavernous rooms. With the passing of each room, he checked a small LED panel on each of the doorways to disable the alarms.

They finally reached a large living room area, adjacent to what appeared to be a kitchen in the next room. Gold stopped, turning towards her. "I have my files in my study. You may make yourself comfortable here in the meantime. There is tea and coffee in the kitchen if you would like some."

"You don't trust me to view your study, Gold?"

"A man must be permitted some secrets, hmm? I'll be back shortly."

Belle watched him limp away, down another hall, but didn't follow, even though it was taking every fiber of her self-control not to do so. Instead, she ventured into the kitchen. Coffee did sound nice and she was starving for any sort of food.

The large kitchen was surprisingly well equipped for a man who lived alone, although Belle was coming to suspect that Gold didn't really reside here, or else he had a very minimalistic decorating style. The estate left her with a cold feeling. It didn't feel like a home—no mementos, or pictures were to be found anywhere. There were only select pieces of art that were carefully arranged on the walls. It looked as if it was a museum, rather than a home.

Home or not, Gold did have a working coffee machine, which was more to be said for than the other places that she had stayed in the past week. She quickly started up the machine, and began to rummage through the cabinets for some cups. She laughed opening the last cupboard; the teacup that she had "chipped" was sitting on the rack prominently. She took it out, deciding at once to pour him a cup in that one, if only to get his reaction to it.

As she waited for the coffee pot to fill, she sat down the kitchen table, taking in the view. Even though she had been joking, it really wouldn't be a bad "back-up" plan to become the caretaker of this place. Especially after Mills' had her fired from this little escapade. No, she reminded herself, _she_ would be the one handing Mills' the pink slip. There were just too many coincidences for the director not to have had a hand in their numerous encounters with the SVR, especially since she pretty much tipped her hand to Mary over her search for "Malus."

She still felt guilty for turning her phone off and not responding to Mary's frantic text about Gold. Even with her GPS tracking disabled, she couldn't risk being tracked, especially with assets in the area likely trying to find Gold. Now, she could only hope that it worked.

The rich aroma of coffee soon filled the room, causing Belle's mouth to water in anticipation of the caffeinated beverage. Her stomach also decided to rumble in turn, as if offended by her neglect. She walked over to the pantry once again, and tried to find something to eat. Even if Gold didn't live here, he had been here recently; most of the items were recently purchased. She quickly arranged a platter of cheese, prosciutto, and crackers, which she devoured as quickly as she filled it. She had to replace nearly all of it so Gold could have some later.

Sitting down again, she looked out the large window. The sun was shining through the windows so brightly that it blinded her, so she got up to draw some of the curtains. _Now how do I get these down? _She felt around for the cord, slicing her finger on one of the window panes.

She frowned, inspecting the pane closer, noticing a small 1" hole in one of the panes. Her hunter instincts instantly became alarmed, as she quickly examined it further. The window had been cut with a very sharp tool in a small circle, below the latch, which opened the French doors. She looked around the room for the LED security box. The screen was blinking with a default time.

Belle looked out the windows, scanning the area, as she pulled out her Sig from her waistband. _How had they found us?_ She had taken every precaution, every evasive driving maneuver. That was, if they had found them at all. Their adversaries could have come and gone days ago for all Belle knew, but she couldn't chance it; she needed to find Gold.

_Where did you go, Gold?_ She couldn't risk exposing her position, or his, if he replied, so she ran from room to room, keeping low and out of the windows' view. Her leg protested at the movement, but she bit her lip and continued, rushing up the tiled steps.

The mansion, or rather monastery, was immense. Built on three levels, there was no shortage of rooms that Gold could've disappeared to. Her alarm began to ebb higher with each passing room that she didn't find him in.

Stopping to think, and give her leg a short reprieve, she mentally ran though the places that he could be. Gold didn't seem to be the sort to have his study on a lower level; he would want to be high to survey the property. But then, with his leg… Belle bit her lip, running back down the stairs, pressing her body hard into the walls, searching for any hidden doors she missed on her first pass. Sure enough, not even two rooms down from the kitchen, the bookshelf she leaned into "clicked" and pressed inward.

She stepped back in surprise, and then pushed it further in, revealing a dark room, with beeping electronics. "Gold?" she whispered.

Gold popped his head up from his array of computer monitors, covering the large, wood desk.

Belle let out a little sigh of relief at the sight of him.

"I thought I asked for you to wait outside, French," he growled in irritation.

She didn't care though, rushing to his side. She pulled the pen out of his jacket lapel, without comment, and wrote on a nearby piece of paper: "Kitchen was broken into."

His eyes widened in alarm, and got up from the chair, examining a nearby screen on the opposite wall.

While he read his other screen, Belle destroyed the small note, and walked over to the three monitors that composed his workstation on a grand, oak desk. Two small windows in one of the monitors indicated that he was copying over files, but an errant flicker of the screen immediately drew her eye. It happened again—a split second of abnormality. She frowned as she watched it happen again, suddenly struck by an eerie sense of déjà vu. _Oh shit,_ she cursed, instantly remembering where she had seen a similar flicker like that before, and dove below the desk.

Sure enough, a small half-inch, rectangular box was attached to the back of the computer, a small red light blinked at steady intervals at its center. She had seen and used enough of these type of devices to know what it was and sprung up, backing away from the computer.

"Run!" she yelled at Gold, looping her arm around his free one, dragging him out of his room.

"Wha—"

"Run!" she commanded again, pulling him harder out of the room.

"But the data—"

"Forget the data. There's a bomb!"

"Fuck," Gold growled, awkwardly dragging his bad leg along, as Belle pulled him out the room and into the foyer.

"French, are you sure that it is a—"

_**BOOM!**_

They both went flying across the room. Belle fell hard, crashing against a nearby wall, and instinctively covered her head as debris fell around her. She tried to breathe, but the wind was knocked out of her. Fighting back panic, she tried to calm herself as she took shallow gasps of air.

She tried looking around for Gold, but a thick cloud of black smoke engulfed the room, obscured her view. She tried staggering to her feet, but fell back down in pain. Trying again, this time using a nearby shattered bookcase as a crutch, she determinedly pulled herself up, carefully picking her way through the debris, searching for Gold. She called out his name, but couldn't hear her own voice, only a shrill whistle in her ear.

"Gold!" she yelled, hearing nothing except the persistent ringing. "Gold!"

A large pile of debris shifted several feet to her right and she limped over, lifting a large beam of wood, revealing Gold's limp hand.

"Gold!" she yelled again. "I'm going to get you out." She threw aside two more large pieces, of what was previously the bookcase or desk, as well as several smaller pieces of white plaster that had broken off the wall.

Gold was unconscious below; his head lolled off to the side, and was covered in a thick layer of dust, making him appear ashen. She checked his pulse and breath, thankful to find both still strong. He was just knocked out.

Belle hooked both of her arms underneath his and pulled hard, dragging him free from the rest of the debris, grunting from the effort. With only one good leg and body full of bruises, she was barely able to get him free. Once loose, she continued to drag him through the remains of the once grand living room and out of what remained of the blasted-out French doors, and finally onto the grass outside.

She checked his breathing and pulse again. Fairly certain that he was just simply knocked out, she turned him onto his side, and hit him hard between his shoulder blades. Gold didn't stir though, so she hit him again, harder. This time, he gasped, coughing, and his eyes opened in shock.

"There. You're okay. We're okay," she said, smoothing his sooty hair back, smiling. "Are you hurt anywhere? Is anything broken?"

He shook his head in reply.

Thankful that he seemed to be all right, she took a quick moment to look around for any potential targets, but morbidly she knew that it was a futile search; they would be dead already if anyone was still here.

"What happened?" Gold breathed, sounding uncharacteristically shaken.

"It was a small IED, on the back of the monitor. I think someone was trying to destroy the data and whomever was accessing it."

He nodded, closing his eyes. "I don't think that I'm going to be able to give you that tour of my garden, unfortunately."

Belle barked a surprised laugh at his attempt at humor, earning a half-hearted smile from Gold. "Yes, I think we'll have to save that for another time."

"But, how? How did you know?"

"The screen flicker," she explained, continuing to mindlessly caress his hair. "It's nearly undistinguishable to the user, but I've used that device before. It's activated on a timer. Once you opened the file, it activated the bomb. If I hadn't, I doubt either of us would have noticed it. How long were you in logged-in there?"

He frowned, pushing himself up onto his elbows, trying to recall. "I had just opened it. I was going though my security footage before that…Christ, I should've known."

"It was just pure luck, Gold. If you would've had more time, then you might've noticed something amiss. I only noticed the window because I was messing with the drapes. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been suspicious of anything at all. Does anyone else know of this place?"

"No," he said, shaking his head; a sinister grimace appeared on his face. "_Dammit_."

Belle nodded, sympathetically.

"Everything was in there. _Everything."_

"What did you have?" she asked, knowing by his expression that she would regret asking.

"Names, dates, emails, contacts…everything that tied Mills to her previous life, as well as all the information I had on Malus. I had it all encrypted and stored there. I didn't trust to store it anywhere else. No one could've known, French. I made sure of it."

"Do you have a backup?"

"Not of anything recent, at least not within the last few years, or anything on Malus," he lamented.

"But before?" she asked, trying to help him along. "Do you have a backup of anything before then that could help us?"

He closed his eyes, pinching his nose. Belle had almost thought that he passed out again, before he opened them, his expression bright and excited.

"Vaduz."

"What's in Vaduz?"

He smiled. "Some old mementos of mine."

…

"Grüss Got. Herzlich wilkommen bei Kaiser Ritter. Wie was darf es sein?"

Belle looked over at Gold expectantly. Her German was spotty at best, and left it to him to handle the conversation, which he took over with ease, speaking to the bank attendant with perfect inflection and fluency.

All in all, it had taken them nearly seven hours to drive from Siena to Vaduz. By the time they had arrived in Vaduz, they had only one hour to buy suitable clothing and clean off the dust and debris from the explosion, so they could be able to play their roles as a respectable businessman and his secretary before the bank closed for the day. Unbelievably, thanks to Gold's uncanny improvisation as an American tourist, they were able to buy the garments without so much as a question as to why they were dressed like they were going to a tropical resort, rather than a scenic, mountain city, even if it was a rather warm 23 degrees.

Gold turned towards her, causing Belle to snap to attention, playing the part of her cover as best as she could. "And this is my secretary, Estabelle Marinee," he said, switching over to English, "she will be accompanying me to the vault as well."

The blonde banker nodded, smiling sweetly. "Of course. Ms. Marinee, could you please sign in here? And I will need to see some identification."

Belle nodded, passing over one of Jefferson's forged passports. She held her breath as the woman examined it. This was the first test of the documents' legitimacy, but the banker seemed satisfied, handing it back over to Belle.

As the woman talked to Gold further, Belle inspected the small bank. It looked like a small, modern office building, rather than a bank, with stark, blank walls, complimented by angular modern furniture in monotone hues. She was more interested in the surveillance equipment though, and kept her face down, using her long hair to obscure her features. She could only see three cameras; hardly a challenge to hack in and change. It was when there were camera feeds in the dozens that Belle would cringe.

"Now, if you would please follow me, I will escort you down to our vault. This way, please."

Belle picked up her small, leather satchel, and followed behind Gold like the dutiful secretary. It wasn't all for show though, in this formation they could provide cover for eachother if need be.

It was only a short walk down a brightly lit hallway to the bank's vaults. Despite the modernness of the lobby, this vault seemed to be much older, dating from another era. The woman removed Gold's box, placing it in a private room nearby.

"Here is a bag, sir, if you need to remove anything."

Gold gave her a slight bow. "Dankeschön."

The woman nodded, closing the door behind them. Belle immediately pulled out one of Jefferson's new "gadgets" he had sent them in Antigua. According to his instructions, this dime-sized metal object should block any video or audio transmissions. She could only hope it worked. "So what to you have in there?"

"When I was a NOC for the Moscow desk, I used to keep a back up of my more important documents, in case of a "rainy day," he explained, opening up the box. "Ahh…here we are."

Inside the box was a thick folder of documents, which he quickly scanned through. He handed them over to Belle.

"We'll go through these later, if you don't mind."

Belle nodded, securing the documents in her satchel. She exited the private room, holding the box for Gold. A guard nearby collected it for her, as they both signed out. Their whole operation went by so surprisingly easy that it made Belle instantly wary, but she couldn't detect anything amiss. Maybe they were due for a bit of good luck after all.

As they stepped outside, Belle once again surveyed the area, taking note of any suspicious persons and cars.

"You're always planning, aren't you French?"

"What?"

Gold looked over at her, limping heavily against his cane. "Your mind. You never rest. I can see you thinking."

"Gold, if you haven't noticed, we've been nearly killed twice in the past two days. It's hardly prudent to survey the area, wouldn't you say?"

"I agree."

"Well, then why are you badgering me about it?"

"I was simply making an observation. Compliment, actually," he said innocently, giving her a sly smile as he walked on.

Belle huffed in frustration. _That man!_ she growled to herself, rushing to catch back up. "So what now?"

…

"Now" to Gold apparently meant food and sleep, both of which Belle had no objection to.

Even though it was the capital city, Vaduz had surprisingly few options for lodging. After a quick survey of their choices after their dinner, they settled on a small hotel on the outskirts of town. Belle was grateful for the rest; she didn't know how much longer she could go on without collapsing. Gold looked even worse than she, barely moving with his limp.

"I'll get the bags," she said, climbing out of the car.

Gold nodded. "I'll see about getting us a room, then."

Belle watched him go, growing more concerned for him. He was in more pain than he was letting on. She could only hope that he hadn't injured himself too badly in the explosion earlier.

Putting her thoughts aside, she pulled their three, heavy suitcases, filled to the brim with electronics and ammunition, up the small steps. The gaudy, German-themed hotel, aimed to draw in tourists, belied its very simple, modern interior inside. Gold was at the desk, talking in German with an attendant. She waited by the bags for him to finish paying for the room.

He walked over, with a strange expression on his face. "There was only one room available."

Belle frowned. "And?"

"There are only single beds. We may go somewhere else if you prefer."

Once again, his concern was endearing to her and she waved him off. "It's fine."

"Very well."

It didn't take them very long to settle their things in the room, especially since they only had to unpack one, small shopping bag of their garments and first aid items they had picked up on the way. Belle lied down on the bed with a groan, feeling the days' events beginning to take their toll as her adrenaline began to slip away, and pain seeped in, taking its place.

"Would you like to shower first?"

Belle opened her eyes, lifting only her head up to see him gesturing towards the small bathroom. "Ah…umm, no, you can go first," she stuttered, taken aback by the sheer domesticity of his question.

Gold nodded, taking off his jacket and closing the bathroom door behind him.

Unlike their accommodations in Antigua, which were downright outrageous in their extravagance and space, this simple bedroom barely had enough room for them to maneuver around each other. That, and their bed had been laughably downsized from a dual king to one that was barely big enough for Belle to sleep in by herself, let alone by two adults who were trying to keep some sense of decency amongst themselves.

The thought of sleeping with Gold in such close proximity made Belle blush, especially since she no longer had her wonderful, drug-induced haze of courage or suitable sleeping clothing like the other night. She groaned to herself, closing her eyes. _Ugh, pull it together. We're both adults…you can do this_, she chided herself, trying to contain her blush as she heard the shower turn on. However, it was one thing sleeping alongside some man, such as Charming, who she viewed strictly as a workmate; it was quite another matter sleeping next to Gold, who she viewed strictly as...

Belle jumped off the bed at the word, or rather phrase, which immediately came to mind_. For godssakes I'm an SOC operative. I can _do_ this. I can sleep alongside a man and not make a complete fool of myself. _If only Gold knew what she was thinking, he'd tease her for days. That thought blanched her nervousness somewhat and she tried to laugh to herself over the ridiculousness of the situation. She opened up one of the suitcases, containing some of their guns, and settled on cleaning an already well-oiled submachine gun to distract herself.

She was halfway through her cleaning when she heard the shower turn off, causing her nearly drop the weapon in nervousness. Composing herself, she turned on the television, needing something to distract her further.

Gold emerged a couple moments later, dressed in a simple white undershirt and dress pants, his hair uncharacteristically disheveled and wet. He looked over at her, amused. "It's all yours, dearie."

"Thank you," she mumbled, quickly placing the gun back in its case.

"And I left a spare shirt in there if you need it," he quickly added, hiding his face from hers, as he walked towards the other side of the room.

Belle paused, her nerves moving aside as she felt Gold's own, feeling once again touched by his simple gesture of kindness. "Thank you," she said, louder this time to attract his attention.

He turned back around to face her, waving his hand. "It's no matter."

She smiled, blushing again, and quickly left his presence before she embarrassed herself any further.

…

Unsurprisingly, the quick shower Belle had taken in a rest-stop bathroom couldn't hold a candle to the twenty-minutes of luxuriously hot water pounding her scalp. As she stepped out, she felt pleasantly exhausted from standing under the hot water for so long.

She looked in the mirror; her reflection hadn't improved much from her last inspection, in fact, her bruises had in fact worsened, thanks to her beating against the wall, but her leg seemed to be healing nicely. With the luck and injuries that they seemed to be having lately, any improvement, no matter how small, was welcome.

Gold's white shirt was folded neatly on the counter, tempting her. It was either sleep in that, or in the pantsuit that she had worn all day. _Do the brave thing_, she thought, pulling the shirt over her. By some small miracle, he had given her a shirt large enough to cover her to mid-thigh. _Thank god_. The last thing she needed was to go prance around in her underwear in front of Gold.

With nothing else to do to bide her time, Belle bit her lip and left the steam-filled room.

Gold looked up expectantly, his eyes slightly widening at her bare legs, before he looked down once again at the papers in front of him, spread out around the bed.

Belle walked over, wringing out her hair as she did so, to examine what he was doing, but he quickly gathered up his papers. "Anything interesting?"

"Ahh…somewhat."

"Somewhat?" she teased, sitting down on the bed, becoming instantly aware of how small the bed indeed was with the two of them on it.

He packed up the papers, placing them once again in her briefcase. "We'll deal with it tomorrow."

"Okay," she replied, standing up to go place her clothes in the suitcase. She really wasn't that disappointed; she was too exhausted to go over anything right now. In fact, she was actually pleased. His promise of trusting her to at least take a glimpse of his papers made her feel encouraged that he was trying to unbend a little bit for her.

"Ahh, French?"

Belle looked around, confused by his tentative tone. "Yes?"

Gold looked more uncomfortable than she'd ever seen him. "If it wouldn't be too much…if I could trouble you to…"

She walked back over to the bed in concern. "Yes? What is it?"

He took a breath, composing himself. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, could you please take a look at my knee?"

"Of course."

He nodded gratefully, as if asking for the one favor took a great toll on him.

She smiled, reassuringly, trying to covey that it was no matter, but he still looked on edge, so she took the opportunity to go find the first aid supplies they had bought outside Milan, when they had made the dual decision that they couldn't go on any longer without some kind of painkiller. It was this same bottle of painkiller that Belle took out of the bag now, along with a smorgasbord of bandages, topical medications, and temporary sutures.

As if he remembered from the last time, Gold obediently rolled up his pant leg, exposing his knee. Unlike last time though, his tailored slacks didn't go high enough for her to fully examine his knee.

She bit her lip, debating it. "Can you please take off your pants?...I can't wrap it properly like this," she quickly added, seeing the alarm in his eyes.

Gold nodded, breathing a barely audible "yes" as he hopped off the bed, removing his pants, and got back on the bed.

"Thank you," she mumbled, trying to distract herself from his black boxers by carefully examining his knee. She did in-fact have some experience treating, or rather stabilizing, these injuries in the field, so she went through the basic movements, trying to ascertain if he torn one of his main ligaments. "Where is the pain the worst?"

"Here," he pointed, wheezing through clenched teeth at her prodding.

She moved the leg again. "Is it worse today?"

He nodded again, closing his eyes in pain as she tried to straighten it.

"What was the original injury?" she asked,

"I can't remember. It was long ago. It was crushed."

"_Crushed?"_

He nodded again.

_Jesus._ "I'm sorry." She moved it again. "I don't think that you've torn your ACL, or MCL, but with all of this swelling, they very well could be. It also might be an old bone chip or meniscus tear aggravating it. Unfortunately, I really can't tell you more than that. We can try and go to a doctor and—"

"No doctors."

"Gold, you could be seriously crippled from this. You need help."

"I'm already a cripple, dearie," he spat, his voice suddenly full of venom, "there's no need to remind me of that."

Belle stepped back from the bed in shock at his harsh tone.

He closed his eyes, pained. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," she replied, icily, stung from his harshness. _Christ, she was only trying to help._ "I'm going to ice it again, to get the swelling down, and then did the wrapping help?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'll do that again, then," she said, methodically, popping an instant ice pack, and applying it to his knee.

"French?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

She looked up from the foot of the bed. His eyes were pleading with hers. "It's fine, Gold." He opened his mouth, but she stopped him, silencing him with a simple gesture. "It's fine," she repeated, softer this time, and went back to trying to find the errant Ace bandages that evaded her in the large bag.

He still looked wary of her as she sat back on the bed to wrap the packs with the bandage. "Can you hand me that pillow?" she asked, gesturing to the pillow beside him. He immediately handed it over. "Thanks." She propped the leg up gently on the incline. "Leave that on for twenty minutes and then I'll wrap it for you."

"Thank you."

"Of course," she nodded, turning to leave, but quickly realizing that there was nowhere to leave to. The room only had a bed, two side tables, and a dresser, leaving her with no places to sit and wait other than the bed. _Fuck me_, she thought, immediately regretting her choice of words as she glimpsed over at the boxer-clad Gold staring at her.

Swallowing her pride, she walked back to the bed, and sat at the head beside him, trying to ignore her nerves, which were creeping back up on her. The butterflies in her stomach only increased as an awkward silence descended upon them; it was nearly unbearable.

"How did you do it?"

"What?" Belle asked, startled by his random question.

"Get to my money. How did you find it?"

Belle laughed, feeling the tension leave her. "You just won't let this go, will you?"

He splayed his hands out in front of him in exasperation. "I had those accounts there for years, French. _Years_. And then, it took you less than a day to find them and take them out. How the hell did you do it?"

"You want to know?"

"Yes!"

"Well, then…you're going to give me something in return."

He swallowed. "What do you want?"

_What do I want?_ Belle thought for a moment. "A favor."

"A favor?"

"Yes," she said, more determinedly. "I'll tell you how I found them, and then you'll have to owe me a favor."

"And what might this favor entail?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought of it yet. But you'll owe me. So whenever I think of it and say 'please,' you will have to do what I say."

"You can't ask me to—"

She held out her hand, stopping him. "It's that, or no deal."

Gold bit his lip, staring intensely at her. "Fine. Deal."

"Alright," she smiled. "You made a mistake, Gold—"

"I did not—"

"Are you going to let me finish?"

He huffed, gesturing for her to continue.

"You made a mistake. On that little flight to Istanbul you sent me on, I was able to finally read over the files that Spencer, or rather you, gave me." She raised her eyebrow at his surprised expression. "Oh, don't look at me like that. It was rather obvious. Especially, after I discovered the little bug you placed on the back of it.

"Anyways," she continued, "I noticed that in the 'reports' you had listed, you emphasized, rather emphatically, about your financial success in your cover job in shipping. At first, I didn't think anything of it. I was more concerned about finding you. But when I hit a dead end, and I discovered that there is no 'Agent Taub' working at the Istanbul office, I went to work dissecting the files on the drive, since that was my only lead on you.

"It turned out that, in fact, you _did_ work as an importer as your cover while in you worked out of the Moscow desk. That made me wonder if there was actually some small shred of truth in the files you gave me, since, for me at least, the best lie is the one that you're familiar with. I figured that since you only had one day to get those files forged and shipped to Spencer before I arrived, you might have actually gone with something you were familiar with." She paused. "How am I doing so far?"

Gold tipped his head. "Quite, well."

Belle smiled. "So I called an old friend who works in Amsterdam as a textile importer, and he told me that in order to conduct business in the EU, you would have to have several trade documents, since your original cover business was officially recognized by the EU Trade Commission. It seems that even though you were technically NOC, you were a stickler for having all your contracts and legal documents in order."

Gold smirked at that, clicking his jaw.

"It turned out that your Giolladhe Industries conducted a large part of its business with a company called Arjan, owned by a certain Adrian Goldwin—very original with that name by the way, Gold. After that, it was a short search to discover that Arjan was based in Switzerland, convenient, I assume, for your banking purposes. Since I found that Arjan was basically your own cover business, and that you weren't officially reporting anything from it, I simply went through Giolladhe Industries' transactions to see when the first orders started, and then compared it to accounts opened in Switzerland, starting in Zurich. It took me a while, but I finally found a rather large account in the name of A. Goldwin at the Desdner Bank in Zurich.

"And while Giolladhe Industries went 'out of business' shortly after your departure from the SOC, Arjan still had active deposits going into its account up through last week. From there, it sort of snowballed, and I sought out any other similar errant transactions conducted with Giolladhe, finally finding three other accounts. Your mistake was the common thread between all of them. They all had Gold, or something similar, in the name, as either as part of the account holder or the company's name."

"How did you come up with this all in one day?"

"I was highly motivated," she winked, "…and it was a long flight." Belle continued to smile at him, their eyes holding for a comfortable moment, before Gold looked away.

"You are quite extraordinary."

Belle blushed, and had to glance away herself.

"I think that it's okay to wrap now."

Belle looked back over; Gold motioned to his leg again. "Are you sure, because we can leave it on for a little longer."

"It's been a long day, dearie. I think we both deserve some rest."

"Alright." She quickly went to work, snugly wrapping his knee with the Ace bandage, pausing only when she heard his short, sharp intakes of breath. She was quickly learning that Gold was not one to admit he was in any sort of pain, so if he made any sort of sound to the contrary, she would pause, pretending to mess with the bandage for his dignity, and then continue.

With her work done, she walked to the door, double-checking the latches, and set up Jefferson's alarm that he sent them. She then turned off all the lights, except for the one by Gold's nightstand, and slipped into bed.

She felt, rather than saw, Gold reach over and shut off the light beside him, which instantly bathed the room in darkness. Even with both of them lying on their sides, the bed was small enough that her back was pressed up against Gold's front, despite being so close to the edge she could fall off at any moment.

Belle's mind couldn't help but wander, as she felt his hot breath against the back of her neck, to think of what else was pressing harder against her. She tried to shift to allow him some more room, but only inadvertently pressed her back up harder against the area she was trying to avoid for her, or apparently, _both_ of their sakes. _Oh._

Gold instantly jumped away from the contact, resulting in a "thud" on the other side of the bed. The sheets pulled off the bed with him, stripping the bed in one fell swoop.

"Are you okay?" she asked in alarm.

"This isn't going to work."

"Nonsense," she lied, inwardly agreeing with him. "Come back to bed."

"French…" he warned.

"Come to bed. Here," Belle gently commanded, her need to erase any of his embarrasment overriding any sense of her dignity, and she pulled the covers back onto the bed, holding them up for him to get under again.

Gold paused, his dark outline hesitating at the side of the bed, before he finally got in, lying on the very edge of the opposite side. Belle relented, not wanting to press the matter further, but felt him creep towards her after a few minutes. She felt his hand hesitate, hovering over her hip, before he drew it back.

Belle's breath caught at the slight contact, butterflies pounding furiously in her stomach. She was never going to be able to sleep like this, she decided. Gold felt equally tense behind her, and she could tell he was uncomfortable as he tried, once again, to place his hand cautiously on her hip.

His tentativeness emboldened her, and before she could second guess herself, Belle reached behind to gently grab his hand and pull him closer, until her back was once again flush with his, and they were both comfortably in the middle of the small bed.

Gold's breath hitched, and she could hear him audibly swallow, but he didn't move away. After a few minutes, she felt him finally begin to relax.

"Thank you, French," he whispered, his Scottish brogue humming next to her ear

"Good night, Gold," she whispered back, a smile escaping across her face as she fell asleep.

…

"French."

"Hmm?" Belle stubbornly drifted awake at the sound of her name and the loud vibration beneath her.

"_French_."

She opened her eyes, quickly realizing that the humming was coming from Gold's chest, that she was currently draped over. "Wha…what?" she stuttered, pushing herself off of him, instantly awake.

"The alarm is going off," Gold whispered tensely, motioning with his head towards the blinking alarm over by the small window. "What does that mean?"

"I, uh, I don't know," she replied, scrambling off the bed to look at the alarm. Flipping up the interface, she pressed her finger to the small LED screen unlocking it, revealing a small dot moving along a GPS-enabled map of their area, but there was no legend, no code, no _anything_ telling her what it meant. _Shit, what does this mean, Jefferson?_ Belle tossed it over to Gold, who was getting dressed. "See if you can figure it out."

Gold took a brief glance before setting it aside. "I think we need to leave."

"I agree." Her instincts were taking over, sensing that this was another trap of some kind. She took a quick side-glance out the window. The quaint hotel that they were staying in only had two floors, with their room being one of a half-dozen on the first floor. Belle could detect no movement or anything amiss in the parking lot directly outside, but the park across the road was a clear shot to the hotel—a perfect sniping location—so she shut the curtains, trying to keep as low as she could.

"What's the situation?"

"Same cars as a couple hours ago, but there's a park across the way which will present a problem."

"Snipers?" he asked, clicking in a new clip into one of their Sigs.

"If it was me, that's where I'd be."

He quirked his brow. "Well, we're going to have to make a bit of a distraction for them, eh?"

Belle watched with curiousity as he proudly reached into his jacket pocket, producing a small ball of grey plastic. "You had that in there the whole time?"

"Don't leave home without it."

"You're insane."

He grinned mischievously, disabling the alarm clock beside them, taking out the wires. "Improvisation, dearie."

Belle raised the phone to her ear. "The lines are cut."

"I'm on it," Gold replied tensely, intense in his concentration in his bomb making. "Give me two minutes.

Jefferson's device between them began to buzz, the dot continuing to move.

"Can you turn that _off_?" Gold growled, slowly connecting two wires.

Belle fumbled with the small device, but could see no "on" or "off" switch. "I'm trying," she pleaded. "Argh, Jefferson, I swear, can't you ever make something simple?"

"Wait—I have an idea." Gold grabbed the device out from her hands, connecting it to his own makeshift C4 contraption.

The seconds ticked by slowly, and Belle grew more and more antsy, watching Gold work. "What's your plan?"

"Can you make it to the car?"

"I think so." Belle went over the hotel's map in her head. She'd parked close, just outside the main doors.

"Alright. If you get to the car, I'll follow right behind," he instructed, still working on his bomb. "Get in the car and take it around the back. I'll set this for two minutes once you leave the room. Can you do that?"

Belle nodded, taking the safety off the weapon. "Just tell me when."

"Wait...Okay, go."

She took off at once, leading with her gun first, as she swung open the door and sprinted down the short hallway. The lobby was located to the right at the end of the hallway, with the car directly outside the doors. Belle made a quick decision and went left, sprinting down the opposite side so she could approach the car with better coverage.

_Ten…eleven…twelve _

The door at the end of the hallway had no window, but Belle chanced it, bursting through into the warm summer night. She jumped into a nearby bush, and quickly surveyed the area. Everything was still.

_Fifteen…sixteen…seventeen…_

With no tact suit to protect her, Belle kept low, with her gun pressed close, as she ran behind the next set of shrubbery, once again pausing for a brief moment to see if she could hear or see anything, but there was only silence.

The front of the hotel was completely exposed, with nowhere to hide, so with car keys in one hand and gun in the other, she crouched in the shadows, counting down the seconds in her head. It would take her five to get to the car and three to start it, and five more to drive to the back, leaving her with a little over a minute to wait.

The seconds felt like hours as she waited in the darkness. Her training thankfully kicked in and she found herself unnaturally calm as she counted down the seconds in her head.

_Go_, she commanded herself, reaching one hundred.

Keeping in a low, she ran hard, in a tight Z-formation, crossing the front of the hotel well under her time estimate. The black Saab was parked in the same spot, and Belle raced to it, rolling on the ground beside it once she reached it.

She took a brief glance at the undercarriage, searching for any explosives, but could see nothing. _I need my night vision_, she thought with dismay, but she had no choice but to use it with Gold counting on her. Getting up off the ground, she manually unlocked the car with the key, and started it up, keeping the lights off as she threw the car into reverse, pressing the accelerator down to the floor.

The little car squealed as she spun it around, and then floored it around the side of the hotel. She reached the end in seconds, parking right outside the door to wait for Gold to appear.

_Come on, Gold,_ she prayed to herself, anxiously tapping her fingers along the wheel.

_Five seconds….ten seconds…_

Belle looked around in panic. _Was my count off?_ Her palms began to sweat. Something was wrong.

_Twenty seconds…_

_Where are you, Gold?_ she thought urgently, growing more and more concerned.

_Thirty seconds…_

_Shit. Something is wrong. Something happened._

She checked her mirrors; nothing was around, everything around her was perfectly still. Gold obviously hadn't been able set off his device. _Fuck._ Belle growled, grabbing her gun, leaving the car running and took the chance, running into the hotel again. Their room was only five doors down, so she slowed to a fast walk, trying to not create as much noise.

The door was still open. She edged towards it, keeping flush with the wall and listened, hearing soft voices inside. _What the hell?_

She jumped into the frame, aiming her gun into the room. "Glass, put the gun down," she yelled, aiming her Sig directly at her fellow agent's chest. Glass had is own gun in turn pressed to Gold's head, who was gagged and tied up at the base of their bed; a large trail of blood covered the right side of his face.

"Agent French. What is this?"

"Glass, put the gun down."

"My gun? Shouldn't you be putting _your_ gun down? After all, I was the one who found Agent Gold. Now, I'm going to do what you haven't been able to."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Glass. You've got the wrong man."

The agent frowned. "Wrong man? Oh, no, I know exactly who this is. Mills sent me here personally to fix this 'mess' that you've got us in. I must say, that I never would have expected you to be one to throw your career away like this, French."

Gold narrowed his eyes in anger, and struggled against his ties.

"Glass, put the gun down. You don't know what you're talking about."

"No, the director told me everything. She's going to be quite pleased when she hears how I found the two of you together. I bet she'll even give me a promotion."

"Oh, fuck you, Glass, and your promotion. I'm giving you one chance to release him, or else I'm going to shoot."

"Agent French are you threatening me?"

"Glass, I'll give you one more chance to release him."

Glass smirked. "Or what? You'll shoot me? French, this man is black-listed if you have forgotten."

She moved closer into the room, moving her gun higher, towards his head where he was unprotected. "He's innocent," Belle growled. "Don't make me do this."

"I'm sorry, French, but I'm not a traitor unlike you—"

_**BANG!**_

Belle flinched as Glass' gun went off as Gold twisted, knocking him off balance to the floor.

Belle was on the duo at once, wrestling Glass away from Gold. Glass twisted around, hitting her square in the cheek. She heard a sickening "crunch" as stars crossed her field of vision and pain blossomed.

Glass dove for the loose gun on the floor, but Belle round-kicked him, connecting hard with the side of his head, but he grabbed her leg in turn, sending them both into the television, knocking it down in a large crash.

"_Mmmmm!"_ Gold moaned from the floor.

She jumped and rolled at the sound of Gold's cry, missing getting shot by inches. She pulled out her gun and shot blindly from the floor in the direction of Glass' shot. Her shot missed though, hitting the wall.

Glass stood up, taking the height advantage and shot again, but missed again, hitting the bed beside her.

Belle immediately returned fire, hitting him square in the chest, sending him to the ground. She jumped up, leaping across the room and tackled him, pressing her gun on his forehead.

"Glass," she growled. "That's enough."

He shook his head, grinning at her. "If you shoot me, I'll shoot Gold. Game over, French. I win."

Belle glanced over; Gold was in direct line with Glass' Sig, and unable to move because of his ties. "Don't do it, Glass."

"I won't fail her," he said determinedly, with a smile. "You're dead, French." He swung his gun quickly upwards—

_**BANG!**_

Hot blood splattered in Belle's face as she looked down in shock. Glass was looking up at her, his eyes blank, with a large exit wound marring the right side of his face. She looked around in shock. Gold was splayed out on the floor with a gun leveled at Sidney's head.

She stepped back, and went over to Gold, slicing his foot ties and gently removing the duct tape off of his mouth. His face looked grotesque from all the blood.

"Thank you," he wheezed, leaning hard on her to pull himself up from the floor. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said distantly as she inspected his head. Her attention, though, was still firmly fixed on Glass' still form, a dark circle around his head expanding in the carpet around him.

"French?" Gold said softer.

"Yeah, yes…I'm fine," she said absently. _You're dead, French. _His last words kept repeating themselves in her mind.

"We need to leave."

The feel of cold metal pressed into her hand snapped her back into the present. "Yes…yes, we do."

…

Belle felt numb, as she watched the trees pass by as Gold sped along the road. He had told her that he knew of a safe house nearby that they could go to, and she had agreed immediately, without thought, and let him drive, after she had hastily packed their car, leaving Glass' body behind. While she knew that it was very likely that Glass had indeed been sent after them by Mills—he was practically her little lapdog after all—killing him had left her with a sick feeling she couldn't shake, now that her adrenaline was no longer in her system. The image of Glass telling her that she was dead, followed by his head exploding a second later was on a ghastly loop in her head, and nothing she did would make it stop.

"Something is beeping," Gold quietly murmured, nodding towards her bag in the backseat.

It was her phone. She picked it up; noticing at once that it had been turned on for quite some time—the battery was nearly empty. _No wonder Glass found us so easily. _She shook her head furious with herself for such a rookie mistake.

On its screen, flashing, was an alert for eight new "urgent" text messages. She swiped it awake, immediately disabling the GPS, and read the screen. The first seven were from Mary, with various urgent notices about Gold's change in direction. It seemed that they had lost his, or rather their, tail in Antigua, but in another text, she wrote that she had uncovered more information about Malus.

The last text message, though, made Belle instantly still, and her stomach roll over. It was from Swann, from only an hour ago.

_-Swan: URGENT – Call Me at +1 485 748 9374 IMMEDIATELY! Your mission is FUBAR'ed – DO NOT CONTACT SOC – REPEAT—DO NOT CONTACT SOC-_

Belle paused, a sick feeling forming in her stomach, and dialed the number.

"Please enter your twelve-digit security code, followed by the pound sign," an electronic voice immediately answered. Belle did as requested, and a long tone sound emitted. "Please hold."

"French, where the hell are you?" Swann's angry voice came on the line. "You need to call me immediately at +1 485 748 9374. I'll have it on me at all times. Do not approach any embassies or call the office." Another beep ended the message.

"What's wrong?" Gold asked, glancing over at her, his eyes full of concern.

Belle didn't answer as she swallowed hard, trying to contain herself, and dialed Emma's number. The phone clicked twice, as she was transferred about, until a dial tone finally rang.

_**Ring. Ring**_. "French!" Swann yelled into the phone. "Where are you?"

"I, uh…"

"Is Gold still with you?"

_Still?_ Belle gulped, looking over at Gold, who was focused intensely on her, trying to listen into their conversation. "No, I don't know where he is."

"Belle, please tell me the truth. I saw the pictures."

"What pictures?"

"Of you and Gold together. Hell, you were sleeping together last night."

"I was not _sleeping_ with him," she cringed. "I…Emma, I think Mills' is setting us up."

"Yeah, no kidding. Why do you think I had you call me?"

"Did you talk to Mary?"

"Yes, and Mills too. She just called everyone in an hour ago and told us that you've gone native with Gold. She showed us the pictures of you together, and told us how you murdered Glass. I called 'bullshit' and was immediately suspended. Nice, huh?"

"Emma, Glass ambushed us. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn't listen and—"

"I know," Emma interjected, "You don't have to explain yourself to me. I believe you. I know that you wouldn't do something like that without having a damn good reason. And after I talked to Mary a couple days ago, about that the project she was working on with you, I put it together. She could only tell me the gist, but if Mills is involved, I figured that Glass would be involved to. What the hell are you and Gold involved in?"

"I'm not sure yet, but it's big. Mills is connected with something called 'Malus.' She's trying to cover her tracks and take us out. Mary can tell you more about it; she texted me, saying that she has a new lead on it. If you just talk to her—"

"I can't."

"What? Why?"

"Belle," Emma paused, her voice lowering, "Mary was in a car accident last night. A car ran a red light, and t-boned her in the intersection."

Belle gasped, covering her mouth. "Oh my God. Is she okay?"

Emma sighed over the phone. "She's alive, but barely. The doctors said that they're doing everything they can, but she's in a coma. I have one of my friends over at the SS watching her."

"You think that it was a hit?"

"Don't you?"

Belle closed her eyes, guilt falling over her like a heavy shroud. "I did this to her. I led her into this."

"No, you didn't. But Belle…" her friend faltered, "before I was kicked out of the meeting, Mills informed us that she has activated everyone to find you two."

"I think she told Glass as much. He said that he was 'couldn't fail her' right before he said that I was 'dead.' He was going to shoot me—Gold saved my life." She looked over at her said hero, who was shaking his head, dismissing her compliment.

"Belle listen to me, it's not just going to be Glass coming after you. She activated _everyone_."

"Wait—what?"

Emma continued to detail everything she knew, before she said "goodbye" with a promise to do everything in her power to help, but truthfully, Belle barely registered what she had said. There was only one phrase she had heard, and then the rest went by in a blur.

She could see Gold, looking intensely at her, out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored him, as she rolled down her window. Robotically, she clicked off the phone, took off the backing and slammed it against the side panel, shattering the electronics. Satisfied that all the essential parts were destroyed, she tossed it outside the window and onto the highway.

"_She activated everyone."_ Emma's ominous words threatened to overwhelm her, so Belle sat back in her seat, and closed her eyes, trying to fight back the bile that was rising against the back of her throat.

She felt Gold move over closer to her, his hand covering hers, protectively.

"What did she say?"

Belle swallowed, looking up at him, biting her lip. "She said that I've been black-flagged."

* * *

**AN Update 8-12: Just wanted to let everyone know that I'm still working on the next chapter (wasn't able to write much in the past week), but I will try and get the next one up by next weekend!**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Hi everyone! This next chapter ended up becoming an utter behemoth of a chapter, topping out at around 25,000 words. Just so I don't keep you waiting for too much longer, because of the editing, I'm going to post this first half now, and then the second half by this weekend, once I finish it, so you'll end up getting two updates this week. I wanted to originally post it all together, so I didn't torture you by teasing anything out for too long, but at least this way, I won't have to keep you waiting any longer. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

_I will protect you._

Gold jerked the steering wheel hard to the right, causing the car to swerve dangerously towards the cliff on the side of the mountain road, eliciting a gasp from Belle; the immediacy and utter fervor of his reaction to her damning words completely unnerved him, sending his heart racing and mind whirling. "Wha…what did she say?" he stuttered, needing to hear the words again, just to make sure that he hadn't misheard her.

Belle grimaced, pulling away from his tight grip on her hand, as she kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead of them, her eyes wide with shock at his erratic driving.

"What did she _say_, French?" he asked again.

She flinched at his loud tone, looking back over at him, but said nothing in reply, her mouth and hands futilely trying to grasp for words she couldn't voice.

_Goddammit!_ Gold swerved violently to the side, slamming hard on the brakes. Both of them lurched forward in their seats, slamming backwards as the car came to an abrupt stop along the side of the road. "French, tell me what she said."

Belle closed her eyes, and bit her lip. "She said…" she paused, starting again. "She said that I've been black-listed."

A wave of pure hatred tore through him, wrestling at the thin tethers of his self-control, the only thing keeping him grounded enough not to fly straight to D.C. and kill Mills himself. _That fucking bitch._ He was going to tear her limb from limb once he got his hands on her. "What else?" he growled through clipped teeth. "What else did she say, French?"

She simply shook her head once again, staring and breathing hard at her lap. A faint sheen of tears glimmered in the corners of her eyes.

Gold's rage instantly extinguished as she looked back over at him. She looked lost and afraid, her eyes pleading for his help. He immediately cursed himself for being so harsh with her. _Of course_ someone as good, and as honorable, as Belle French would be shocked that they would be essentially sentenced to death, by the country they'd served faithfully for so long, for merely trying to help him.

_Goddammit,_ _I should've known that Mills would've pulled a stunt such as this_. He tried to warn French. He _tried._ He shouldn't have ever allowed her to try and help him. He shouldn't have...

He blinked, forcing his thoughts and emotions at bay, and asked again, softer. "French, what else did she say?"

"She said that I've been black-listed and that Mills has activated every current asset to take us out. She…God, she tried to kill, Mary…she…"

"Who's Mary?"

"Blanchard," she explained, nervously waving her hands about. "The IO that's been helping me—the one I told about Malus."

"She's covering her tracks. Does anyone else know about Mills or the op?"

"Emma. And she's been suspended. She's onto what Mills is up to, though. She'll be able to stay safe. She's watching Mary too."

His mind started whirling at the information, trying to plot next their move. He refused to be out-played by Mills, not with so many of his pieces already carefully placed on the board. "Do you know when the order was given?"

"Emma said that they had a meeting about an hour ago…that they had photographs of us together. And they know about Glass, too. They said that I killed him."

"Forget about Glass," he said, dismissively waving away her concern. He was more concerned about the timeline. An hour meant that Mills would have activated the other assets at least a day ago, if not more. If Glass had been acting alone, then that was even more to their advantage. On the other hand, if they had been tracked by other means, such as Mills, well, then, they were fucked. He thought quietly, going over their movements over the past day. "Did she say how Glass found us?"

Belle shook her head in disgust. "It was the phone," she groaned, waving towards the window. "I'd turned it off, but it must have gotten switched on at some point."

"Does it have a remote activator on it that could do that?"

"No," she answered quickly. "It must have been pressed up against something, and then it got turned on. I only realized that it was on when just rang. God, how could I have missed that? It was there the whole time, just waiting for someone to track—"

"It's not worth worrying over now," he interrupted her; they didn't have time to waste, worrying about things that had already happened and weren't under their control. They only had an hour, at most, to lose their trace. The fact that it was a simple mistake that led to their undoing was actually a good thing—it left the more undesirable alternatives still on the table. That thought reminded him of the suitcases, stacked high in the back seat. "Does anything in there have active GPS?"

His question gave Belle a start, but she quickly recovered, her old self seemingly rushing back as she took the initiative, immediately unbuckling her seatbelt, and diving for the back seat. The loud sound of zippers ripped through the car, as she looked through each one, soon returning with three devices.

"I'm not sure what these do," she said, examining each of them. "They're off, though."

"Lose them."

Belle paused, raising her eyebrows, but quickly nodded, opening the door.

"Where are you going?"

She shrugged. "I'm losing them."

He watched her walk to the front of the car, ducking down, and then stood back up, motioning for him to drive forward. A small bump lifted the car as it rolled over the electronics. He repeated the procedure three times, at which point Belle held up her hand, stopping him. All that was left of the devices was an indistinguishable scrap pile of wires and plastic, which she tossed out into the nearby foliage.

Belle swung back in the car, closing the door with a loud thud. "What now?"

The long-forgotten knight errant inside him hummed with pleasure at her faith in him. He thought to himself, quickly considering their options. The Czech compound was out. There was only one place they could go—one place that he trusted that they could truly be safe at. "Can you drive?" he asked her.

"Yes."

"Good." He stepped out of the car, limping around the car as they switched places. "I need to get a disposable phone."

She nodded, and floored on the gas. "I saw a Vodafone a couple kilometers back when we passed Lugano."

"Okay," he answered, rubbing his leg, trying to work out the knot that had built up over the course his driving. _Of all times for that damn joint to act up..._ Belle, thankfully, ignored his ministrations and continued to fly down the highway. In fact, she looked downright subdued, which concerned him. "I'm going to make this right, French," he said, determinedly. "I swear it."

She simply nodded again, and pressed harder on the gas, her knuckles nearly white from gripping the wheel so hard.

A bright, red and white, logo-ed sign, five kilometers down the road, lit their path to the cellular store. Once on the street, Belle threw the car into an impressive u-turn, swerving it directly into a parallel parking spot. Gold inwardly flinched from the attention they were drawing by her stunt driving, but said nothing. He simply passed over some Francs to her. "Get a couple, just in case."

"Right," she nodded, opening her door.

He reached out, stopping her with a simple touch to the arm. "You armed?"

Belle lifted up her jacket, showing the butt of her SIG stashed in her pants.

Acquiesced, he sat back into his seat, touching his own firearm in turn.

"I'll be right back," she reassured, closing the door behind her.

As he watched her enter the small store, Gold habitually checked the mirrors, subtly observing his surroundings for anything that seemed out of the ordinary, but the street and store were nearly empty due to the early morning hour, with only the clerk and a couple customers within view. He could see Belle talking to the sales person inside, flirting shamelessly, as she laughed and gesturing animatedly to her swollen eye, undoubtedly telling him some sort of story that the man was buying completely. Within minutes, she was exiting the store with a white, plastic bag tucked underneath her arm.

She entered the car with a grunt, passing the bag over to him. "They had disposables and pre-paid SIMs. I bought two of each for us."

"Only two?"

Belle started up the car, tilting her head. "People remember when someone buys more than two of an item, especially with this lovely shiner. Plus, once they place a replacement order, that order will be tracked. They'll be monitoring any abnormal purchases, especially with phones, until they know we've left the area."

He blinked, impressed. _Damn, she was good._

She pulled back out onto the highway, headed south. "So what now?"

Gold held up his hand, having already dialed the first part of his plan. Belle immediately fell silent, easing back into a comfortable driving position.

_**Ring. Ring. Ring. Click.**_

Gold waited three seconds, listening for any sort of click, indicating a recorder or listening device, before he spoke. "What is the temperature in Damascus?"

A similarly long pause answered him, before a thickly accented Indian voice came on the line. "45 degrees."

"I may be traveling there soon. Do you have any recommendations for dining?"

"The kebab at the Naranj is splendid," the voice evenly replied back. "What do you want?"

Gold smirked at the defected agent's direct manner. Mulkraj was never one to mince words. "I need immediate transportation."

"When is it not immediate with you, my friend?"

"I need a plane at the—" he paused, glancing over at the road signs, passing them by. "Nearest airport by Lugano."

His old asset hummed on the other side of the phone, and he heard a furious clicking of computer keys in the background. "Done. It will be at the E-Aviation Swiss Sagl FBO at the Lugano Aiport at noon."

"I need it in an hour, Mulkraj."

"Blah, blah, blah, demand, demand, demand…what have you ever done for me?"

Gold clenched his jaw in anger. "I believe you know _exactly _what I've done for you, and exactly how fast that I can take it away," he hissed. "Now, I want a plane, with full fuel, and a closed cockpit, at that airport in an hour, or else I'll make sure you are paid a reminder. Do you understand?"

"Ya…yes," the man stuttered. "I believe that I can get that done for you. What else do you require?"

"I need…" He covered the mouthpiece, thinking over their options. Finally, decided, he glanced over at Belle, who frowned back at him. "How comfortable are you with heights?"

"I'm fine with them," Belle frowned, looking at him curiously. "Why do you ask?"

…

"Now, we'll release the Zodiac first. Its flares will mark our rendezvous place in the water. We'll wait until it has descended for five seconds, and then you'll jump first. Make sure that you rate your descent with the boat. You don't want to get tangled up in that. Try and splash as close as you can to it, but give yourself enough room to not hit it. Use the tanks if you need to swim for any amount of time. I'll be right behind you. If for any reason, we can't find each other, wait, and then light the flare—but only if you're sure that we're separated. And don't—not that I should have to say this—but don't ditch the gear until we're both on the raft. You got it?"

_Well, this was _my_ plan_; Gold answered himself, simply nodding in reply.

It seemed that his suggestion of parachuting to their location had triggered the Ranger-inherent in Belle. She had simply assumed "control" of the plan after she had heard him detail it to her. He'd given up control freely to her, quickly discerning that it would be hopeless to argue the point with her. Gold had no love of such plans anyways; he simply hoped that it would be over soon. Their nearly fifteen-hour wait for Mulkraj to deliver their necessary supplies and plane, per Belle's requirement that it be done at night, had put him on edge, since his original timetable to have a clean break was now essentially unrecognizable, even if he did see the merits of her suggestion.

"Okay. Did you check your gear, already?"

He glanced down at his heavily armored body, and shrugged noncommittally. The tags on the BCD, chute, and body armor, were written in a mix of what appeared to be Arabic and Hindi characters, both of which he wasn't extremely familiar with; however, the actual parts seemed familiar enough—1st stage, 2nd stage, gauges, BOC pouch were all fairly standard.

Belle didn't seem satisfied with his shrug, and walked over to prod him, checking the gear for herself.

"Whatever are you doing?"

"Checking it," she explained in irritation. A hiss of air erupted as she checked the first stage's regulator. "Are you sure that you can trust your contact? I can't find anything that seems bugged, or tampered with but—"

"We don't have to worry. Let's just say that he has a vested interest in keeping me alive."

"Let's hope so," she retorted, tightening the straps on his military-issue BCD. "As far as I can tell, the SCUBA equipment is most likely Israeli-military issue. The chutes are Indian—commercial, I believe—but rated up 'til 40,000 feet, so this should work."

"You can read that?" he asked, pointing to the Hindi written on the side of the BOC.

"And speak it for the most part. Maiṁ tumasē jyādā cālāka hūm."

"You know I like it when you talk dirty to me, French."

Belle laughed. "Yeah, you wish, you sēksī ādamī."

"It all sounds good to me, dearie," he smartly replied back, unable to hide his own grin at her perfectly accented Hindi, tilting his head in acknowledgement at her self-satisfied grin. It seemed that French would never cease to amaze him.

"You're sure that you're fine jumping like this?"

"This isn't my first time, French."

"And this isn't the time to have a crash-course trying to remember all of this while you're plummeting to the ground at 100 mph," she retorted.

_This woman_, he sighed, as she firmly placed the weight belts into his BCD. _This was, or used to be, _his_ plan._ "Yes. I'm fine."

She paused her check to pointedly raise her brow at him. "Hmm. And when was your last jump?"

_Christ._ "A year ago. Two? But we don't have a choice, now, do we?"

"Do you need me to tandem?"

"I think I can jump out of the damn plane by myself," he shot back, growing tired of her endless questioning.

"Fine. Excuse me for not wanting you to die." She paused, glaring at him. "Now, tell me the plan again."

Gold flashed-back, immediately recalling why he had been so happy to leave the British Armed Forces, but humored her army-instilled discipline by repeating her instructions again, verbatim. "I'm not going to die, French," he finished.

She rewarded him with a sly, knowing smile, and slipped on her tank, turning her back to him. "Please?"

He took the hint, and immediately duplicated the same gear-check process she had just performed on him. She gave him her thanks after he finished and left to go check on the boat, yet again. Her training was seemingly dictating her every move, but it seemed to calm her, so he left her to it, while he checked their position yet again.

When they had arrived at the FBO, he'd given the pilot a generic flight plan to Mumbai, with strict instructions not to look back, or open the cabin door, lest he be shot. That made it to Gold to know when to bail. According to his watch, and the monitor on the screen, that moment was going to be in less than five minutes, splashing down at a little after 1:00 a.m. "French," he called out, getting her attention across the cabin. "'Bout five minutes out."

Belle nodded back at him, tying off another strap. Seemingly satisfied, she slowly walked back over to him, awkwardly maneuvering around the large boxes in the hold. "What the hell is in all of these boxes?"

"No clue." _But it's probably illegal_, he added to himself, looking at the large, wooden crates piled high to the ceiling.

"Probably illegal," she mumbled to herself. "So, do you have the plan?"

He sighed, nodding yet again. "Yes. I have the plan, French."

"Good," she nodded.

Gold looked over at her, pointing to her night-vision glasses, and shut off the cabin's lights, instantly bathing the room in neon-green tones. Belle looked as if she was simply bursting with nervous energy. He could no longer tell if it was because of the jump, or if it was because of her new status.

"Once we hit the water, you know where to go right? It'll be... we'll be safe?"

Even with her dark-glasses and helmet obscuring nearly her whole face, Gold could see the worry plainly written in her features; a fear that she had kept hidden from him ever since they had arrived in Lugano. "I'm going to take you somewhere safe. I swear."

A nervous smile flashed for a brief moment, and she transformed once again back into the serious soldier, focused on the task. "Alright."

"But if for any reason, I don't—" He held up his hand, holding back her retort. "If for any reason I don't make it, go to the Žut Island. Its coordinates are 43°51′N 15°18′E. We should land about two miles east of it. No one is there. Go along the east seawall. There is a loose brick thirty-two paces down from the gate; hidden behind is a key. Once inside, I have enough money and weapons to keep you safe for as long as you need be."

"But, we're going to be fine."

"Žut Island—43°51′N 15°18′E," he said, again. "Repeat it to me."

"Žut Island—43°51′N 15°18′E. Key is thirty-two paces from gate."

"Good." A faint sense of relief washed through him, knowing that whatever happened, Belle would be okay. He knew that she was tenacious enough to survive anything—him, on the other hand, he was getting too old for this sort of absurdity.

"Is this you trying to be reassuring? Because just so you know, you're being the _opposite_ of reassuring right now."

"I just want to cover my bases." _And keep you safe._

"Because if you're trying to ditch me," she nervously continued over him, "I swear to God, I will shoot you, and then bring you with me…And I'm jumping after you, by the way, so there's no way in hell I'm letting you punch out without me. I swear I will—"

"French!" he yelled, stopping her. "It's going to be fine. I'm not leaving you," he said in exasperation, stupefied that she would assume that he would want to ditch her, and reached out to grab her hand, instantly stilling her, giving it a little squeeze in reassurance. Or, at least, he hoped it was reassuring—it had been a long time since he actually tried to comfort someone else.

"Okay," she said, nodding to herself. "Let's do this then. You're sure that you know the plan though—"

"I _have_ the plan."

…

_Fuck this plan._

_**Splash!**_

Gold's body wretched with pain as he hit the water, instantly submerging below the dark surface. He had little time to react before his inflated BCD rocketed him to the surface, exposing him to the rough seas above. "French!" he yelled, as he unsheathed his knife to cut away at the tangled chutes.

"French!" he called out again, louder this time, but he could hear nothing except for the lapping waves around him. He whirled around, looking for her chute or the boat, but he could only see an endless ocean through his green-hued night vision glasses. "French!"

He started to become alarmed and fought back the rising panic—not for his sake, but for hers. He wasn't going to lose her; not like this. "French! Answer me!"

A muted splash behind him caught his attention and he spun around again, seeing nothing. "French!"

"Gold!" her muted voice called out from far in the same direction. Relief instantly doused him and he ceased his frantic paddling. "I'm coming...get... boat."

He frowned at her broken words. "Where are you?" he yelled out again, turning onto his back to swim towards her voice.

He suddenly heard a dull roar of a motor start up, and rapidly come towards his direction, getting louder with each passing second. The small Zodiac was nearly on top of him, when Belle swerved to the side, cutting the engine, and throwing him a rope. Gold grabbed onto it, letting her pull him towards the side of the boat.

"Are you okay?"

Water splashed in his face as he tried to stay close to the boat, making him cough. "Yes. Are you?"

"I'm fine," she said, holding out her hand. "Here—give me your BCD."

Gold slipped out of this tanks and vest, and floated it over to her. Belle heaved it over the side with a loud grunt.

"The ladder broke off. Come over here and I'll try to help you up."

He did as instructed, not sure how this was going to work—with his bum leg, and the rough sea making the small boat thrash about.

Belle leaned over the side, and gestured for him to turn around, hooking her arms underneath his armpits. "On three. One…two…three!"

Gold kicked hard with his good leg, and felt his body being heaved from above. The rounded side of the boat provided ample leverage, but a rogue wave hit the boat as he was three-quarters out, causing Belle to lose her grip and he fell back into the water.

"Argh!" Belle yelled above him. Her voice disappeared as a wave crashed over him. Without the buoyancy of his BCD, the rope was all he had to stay afloat in the rough waters.

"Again," he commanded, spitting out a mouthful of water.

This time, Belle timed her pull with an oncoming swell, using it to their advantage, and heaved him up over the side.

Gold fell into the boat unceremoniously with a grunt, his legs still propped upright against the side. He tried to right himself, but one of his fins was caught on the railing. Belle half-fell on him as she swayed with the waves, but released him, helping him up to a proper sitting position.

"How's your leg?"

Her question gave him pause, as he'd momentarily forgotten about it, adrenaline masking the pain, but now, it came rushing back, in a familiar harsh, dull throb. "It's been better."

Belle continued to gather his gear that he handed over to her, except for the night-vision glasses, which he kept. "Do you need me to drive?"

He looked around, getting his bearings in the darkness. Elevated in the boat, he could now make out the distinct line of the island's coast through his glasses to the east. "No," he protested, taking her place in the small chair behind the steering wheel in the back. Belle sat on the side, next to him, letting him steer the boat without protest.

The winds whipped around them as he accelerated the boat forward, heavy spray covering them with every wave they crested. Sharp spasms of pain shot through this leg as the boat slammed down into each wave's trough, making him yell curses into the wind.

Belle was enduring the journey no better, and he could see her wince and lean forward with each turbulent crest, nearly bouncing off the seat on several occasions.

"We're nearly there," he lied, trying to make the journey sound shorter to both of them. Even though he could see the island, he knew that the darkness made the distance deceiving; the LED display in the corner of his glasses showed that they were still nearly seventeen miles from the coast—it would take them well over an hour to cross the distance in these seas.

"Let me know if you need me to take over," Belle yelled out in reply, her voice getting partially lost in the wind.

He simply nodded his acknowledgement; the wind was proving impossible for conversation.

The rest of the journey was completed in silence, as they were both focused on merely bracing themselves against each wave. Albeit for one small moment of panic, when a tank came loose and hurled towards them, it was fairly uneventful except for the uncharacteristically turbulent sea.

Gold sighed in gratitude as the waves finally abetted as they approached the small harbor on the rocky shore. The island, despite being always uninhabited during its history, was once used as a port for traveling seamen through the Croatian islands, before he purchased it. Now, hidden in the darkness, he could see what his eyes couldn't—twenty-square miles of peaceful, hilly, maquis shrubland, surrounded by picturesque white, rocky beaches, with his home situated on top of the highest point. He looked over, and could see Belle taking it all in as they coasted in to the dock; the old, original 17th century, white stone buildings, composing the harbor, looked positively imposing in their night vision glasses.

She turned around, gesturing to the ropes. "Do you need me to do anything?"

"Just hold us at the dock," he said, adjusting the throttle to let the bow ease towards the wooden planks.

Belle jumped off immediately, rope in hand, and tied them off, with surprising speed. She tied off the back too, without his leave, and shrugged, giving him a slight smile. "Do you see any buoys?"

He was still fixed in place, impressed by yet another hidden talent that she'd revealed to him. She frowned, with her hand outstretched, making him cringe at the realization that he was staring, and he quickly handed her over a buoy that he found in the compartment under the steering wheel.

With the boat secure, Gold accepted Belle's help out of the boat and onto the dock. After being alone for so long, these constant reminders that he was slowing her down with his leg frustrated him. The pain he could deal with—this new embarrassment, not so much.

Belle bounded back into the boat. He was about to thank her for getting his cane, but instead, she cut the ropes, securing their cargo, and heaved one of their large supply boxes onto the dock.

"French, leave them. We can get them in the morning."

She ignored him, throwing another one out of the boat.

"French!" he said, limping forward, trying to block her path. Another one landed in front of his feet without warning, nearly knocking him over. "Don't hurt yourself. There's no one here; we'll get them once it's light out."

She shook her head, determinedly. "I'm not going to leave them out here."

He could tell by her tone that there would be no arguing with her, so he relented, getting into the boat to help, ignoring his protesting leg. "Let me help, then."

Belle looked up, her brow scrunched up above her thick glasses in surprise. Gold might not be able to walk, but he damn sure wasn't going to sit idly by as she exhausted herself.

With the two of them, they were able to unload the dozen boxes in little time. It left his beaten limbs shaky and sore, but it was a small price to pay for the smile and "thank you" it earned him. He shook his head at his foolishness; he needed a drink, and soon.

The electric car, that he kept stored in the boathouse near the dock, carried them and their possessions to the white, terraced home on the top of the hill. Belle arched her neck curiously beside him, as he slowly drove up the cobblestone driveway, which winded in a lazy s-curve up the hill.

Once at the top, he parked the car in the circular driveway, and stepped out, the sweet fragrance of the surrounding night-blooming jasmine welcoming him home. Belle stepped out in turn, looking around at the grounds through her glasses.

"What is this place?"

He ignored her question, instead walking around and down a pathway along the side of the house, finally stopping by a small, hanging flowerpot. With a quick swipe of a fingerprint pad, hidden within, the pot swung out, revealing a complex security panel. He quickly scrolled through the history, noting that there had been no movement within the house, or the island since he'd been here last.

"Take off your glasses," he instructed. With a simple touch, all of the lights immediately went on, illuminating the house and the grounds surrounding it.

Belle gasped at the sudden bright light.

"Solar panels," he explained with pride, pointing to the shiny tiled roof; each "tile" was an individual, custom-designed, solar panel, capable of powering the entire house. With another thumb scan, he unlocked the side door, holding it open, and gestured for her to go inside.

The large home was built on three, terraced levels into the hill, each with their own large open balcony, in order to provide for the maximum amount of views of the ocean and island below. The grounds themselves totaled nearly four acres, with enough rooms to spend an afternoon exploring, but Belle only made it four-steps into the first room, before she stopped, looking around at the numerous objects and pictures displayed around it. Ever observant, she turned around, looking at him warily.

Gold stepped back, placing his hands on top of his cane as he waited for her questions, but she had none; instead, she simply walked away in favor of examining the objects and pictures closer, carefully tracing her fingertips along the frames of the smaller snapshots displayed on the chests by the window.

She continued to slowly circle the living room in silence, taking a long look at the large dog beds by the sofa, before she reached his side once again, looking wary and confused. "This is your home," she said quietly.

He nodded, swallowing back the pain that came with the term. "It is, indeed."

"And you brought me here?"

"I wanted to bring you…" he breathed, suddenly uncomfortable with the small distance between them. "It's safe," he quickly finished.

Belle swallowed, inhaling sharply. "Thank you," she whispered, her confident voice suddenly thick and shaky with emotion.

"It's no matter," he cheerfully dismissed, trying to ignore the uncomfortable pang in his chest. "I'll show you to your room, now, unless you need something else?"

"That'd be great. Thank you," she shyly smiled, following him obediently up the small steps to the bedrooms on the floor above. Despite its size, the house only had three bedrooms, with two on the top floor, each of equal size, beside each other, taking up the entire floor, with an open air courtyard separating them, connected by a bougainvillea-covered trellis.

He stepped aside on the landing, gesturing to the doors. "You may have whichever one you wish."

"Which one is yours?"

"This one," he said, pointing to the one on the left, "but you may have it if you wish. The other, I'm afraid, has become a bit of a clutter with some of my books. I've been using it as a study. You should probably take mine."

Undeterred, Belle opened the door to the second bedroom, flipping on the lights. Gold cringed with embarrassment at the mess of books strung across the far side of the room, some piles nearing half the height of the ceiling. As with the rest of the house, the room was simply littered with trinkets in every nook and corner—gifts and mementos he brought home from his travels.

He watched as she quietly examined the room, with as much care as she did in the living room, finally opening the French doors, which led to a large balcony. A warm breeze blew into the room, causing the smell of flowers to once again permeate the air.

Belle turned around, with a shy smile on her face. "Do you mind if I take this one?"

"As you wish," he bowed, backing away. "I will leave you to rest, then, good night."

"Oh…umm…"

Her hesitancy made him turn on his heel, instantly at her beck and call. "Yes?"

"May I borrow something to wear?"

His mind went momentarily blank at the thought, but he quickly recovered, limping as fast as he could to his room, quickly returning with a stack of his white undershirts. Not wanting to embarrass himself further, he gave her a quick nod, placing the shirts on the bed. "Good night, French."

"Belle."

He froze, looking over his shoulder.

She'd crossed nearly the entire room in silent strides, and was now standing right behind him. "My name is Belle," she offered, with a shy, lopsided smile.

Gold was momentarily at a loss for words, and immediately stilled as she took another step forward, into his space. Before he could react, Belle gently kissed him on the cheek, knocking the air out of his chest.

"Thank you," she whispered, drawing back away, her warm eyes smiling at him.

"I…uh…Belle, " he swallowed, trying to recover, but could only dumbly nod as he quickly opened the door. "Good night." He quickly closed it behind him, his heart racing. _What the hell was that? _He paused, his hand hovering over the handle, confused yet regretful by his leaving, but he drew it back. _No, she was simply thanking him. She couldn't think…_He stepped quickly away from the door and limped back down the stairs, and through the tiled hallway into the kitchen.

He passed through it, walking directly over to the liqueur cabinet in the adjacent dining room, and poured himself a generous finger of Scotch, downing it in a single gulp. The warm liquid poured down his throat like an old friend.

He needed this, he decided, downing a second shot for good measure. His battered heart had yet to calm itself. The woman upstairs had drudged up feelings he long thought to have extinguished in his life; it both excited and dismayed him, knowing that she wouldn't ever return the sentiment, and even if she did, if she _could_, he'd only hurt her. That was one thing he knew for certainty—everyone he'd ever loved had been hurt and taken from him. He wouldn't wish that fate on anyone, especially someone as good as Belle French.

The fine crystal glass sparkled in the light, as he twirled it around in his hand. That was the heart of problem in and of itself, he reflected, running his finger along the edge—she was good, and he was anything but. Any semblance of goodness had been torn from him after he'd lost Bae; he was simply a pit of darkness now, swallowing up anyone in his path. No matter how much faith Belle had in him, he'd still brought her down, sentencing her to a life forever on the run, away from her family and friends.

_No_, he thought, placing the tumbler back on the counter. He wouldn't allow that fate for her. She deserved to decide her own fate, not to have it laid down as a sentence to her. He might not be her first choice as an ally, but he would do everything in his considerable power to right this wrong done to her, and deliver her safely home.

With his renewed conviction making him feel slightly better, he stood, limping back up the stairs, pausing to check the alarm, and then, finally up to his bedroom. He paused at he landing, feeling a pull to check on her once more, but pulled himself back.

Once in the room, he slowly disrobed from his tight, tactical wetsuit, and changed into more comfortable sleeping attire. Even though his skin was sticky with sweat and salt, Gold was too exhausted to attempt any sort of shower and collapsed onto his bed; the effort to remove his tactical wetsuit alone had left him nearly out of breath.

Ironically, or rather, thankfully, his impromptu dip in the ocean and tight suit had left his knee with considerably less swelling than had been there in the morning, despite his fight with Glass. Without Belle to tend to it though, he tried to treat it as best as he could, grabbing a couple spare pillows and placing them under his knee, elevating, as per her instructions.

His body nearly hummed with relief as he relaxed back into the bed. Even though he was notorious for working in dangerous situations, he had endured more injuries than he had in the past eight years combined. It had always been his belief that if you had to draw a gun, you'd already failed the mission. He laughed to himself, switching off the lights; it sure didn't bode well for them that they'd done that nearly every day, not to mention that their combined tally of wounds was damn near laughable—the very definition of the "walking wounded." First thing in the morning, he would have to discuss with French how long she would like to stay here. They were no threat as is, patched-up and hobbling around. They needed to regain their strength.

Gold closed his eyes, trying to relax, but quickly found that sleep wouldn't come. He soon became restless, hyper-vigilant to every noise and sensation. The worst sensation was the coldness of the bed itself, a stark contrast to the pleasant warmness that had filled it in the past few days. It was embarrassing to be able to miss it, even though she had only been at his side for a mere two nights. This thoughts quickly turned to Belle and he became worried, wondering if she was okay, if she was safe, and he had to forcibly stop himself before he got worked up over nothing. If she'd only knew how much he thought of her, she would run and never look back.

The ticking of the grandfather clock continued to mock him, as he tried to think of something—anything—else besides Belle French, but it seemed that his mind was hell-bent on torturing him.

One hour went by…two; each hour marked by the quiet gong of the clock.

Three…

_**Creak.**_

Gold froze, his breathing instantly ceasing, as he tried to listen and determine where the sound had come from without opening his eyes.

The faint sound of footsteps padded around his bed, and he creaked his eye open, without moving; his heart instantly stopped at the sight of none other than the object of his affections, walking over and curling up in the large chaise lounge next to his bed.

He was dumbstruck on what to do—to offer his bed to her, or to do nothing, and not alert her that he saw her. Without a clear thought in his head, besides the _very _clear memory of him embarrassing himself the night before, he did nothing, taking the cowardly way out, and pretended to sleep.

That strategy lasted five minutes, before guilt overrode his need to protect his own ridiculous sensibilities, and he sat up, pulling the covers on the opposite side of the bed down. "French," he whispered, hoping, yet not, that she would hear him.

She immediately jumped, scrambling out of the chair at the sound of his voice, but calmed herself when she saw him. "I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep."

He gently patted the mattress in reply, lying back down and turning away, not wishing to make her any more uncomfortable. A slight depression on the opposite side answered his question, and the warmth that he had missed so much returned; even if it was on the opposite side of the bed.

Within minutes, he heard a quiet snoring behind him, and he rolled back over to face her. Her face was slack with sleep, but she was still full of tension, with her arms and legs tucked into a small ball. He softly reached over to smooth a strand of hair back that had fallen over her eye, gently caressing the dark patch surrounding her cheek and eye socket. "Good night, Belle," he whispered, drawing his hand back and closing his own eyes, feeling the illusive pull of sleep that had evaded him, and slipped into the darkness, satisfied that she was safe beside him.

…

_Something is wrong._

Gold awoke with a start from a deep sleep, immediately on edge without knowing why. The bed beside him was empty, the sheets still astray from Belle's restless turning during the night.

He stopped himself from calling out her name, not wanting to needlessly alarm her because of his bad dream. The room was silent apart from the soft crash of waves in the distance and he calmed down. _Christ, it was just a bloody dream, you sad sook._

_**Crack!**_

The faint, yet indistinguishable, sound of gunfire in the distance had him immediately out of bed and reaching for the spare Browning that he kept in his dresser beside his bed. A second shot quickly followed, sounding closer than the first.

_Belle._

Gold flew out of his bedroom, gun raised. He opened Belle's room, peaking his head in, but it was empty, with only white curtains blowing in the open veranda.

Another "crack," made him instinctively crouch and back away from the windows. _Where the hell did you go, Belle? _he thought, his worry threatening to overwhelm him. The alarm panel on the wall between the doors was on, but blank, showing no alarms forced entry or perimeter breaches.

_**Crack!**_

_No forced entry, my ass._ He checked his clip—full— and clicked it back in, rushing down the stairs, using the wall as a makeshift aid.

The second floor was silent, and brightly lit, with the morning sun casting bright glare against the far wall of glass windows. He scanned around, keeping his body flush with the wall as he checked the second, main alarm panel, near the kitchen. This one showed all the motion detectors on the island; placed every square foot, the sensors gave him a perfect view of all the activity on the island, including the lone shooter located thirty meters below the perimeter of the house. _Got you now, you fucker,_ he smiled.

Three more shots rattled off, two in quick succession as he slowly limped down to the shooter's position. He might not be able to run anyone, but the element of surprise often trumped anyone's advantage for at least a brief moment.

All he could hope was that Belle was safe. She would be smart enough to stay low if she was out, which it seemed to be the case since the shooter was so carelessly using up their ammunition. It was a well-used tactic to keep the person pinned down while one waited for backup.

He edged down the hill, finally stopping to crouch in the bushes a few meters away. He had the shooter in his sights; all he needed was a clear shot. _Come on...move to the right...just a little more._

The shooter flinched, hearing him adjust his position, and immediately turned, facing him.

"Jesus Christ, Gold, what are you doing?" Belle screamed, her eyes wide with fright.

Gold immediately dropped his gun at his side, suddenly light-headed and nauseous. "I heard shots...I thought..." he trailed off, his fear quickly replaced by anger. "What the hell are you doing out here? I could've killed you!"

"I was just practicing," she yelled back, her chest heaving. "Didn't you see me?"

"No. Of course not! Who goes shooting at 6:00 a.m? I could've killed you!" he repeated, his hands violently trembling from shock.

"I was downwind. I thought that you wouldn't hear me."

"You thought that I wouldn't hear .308 rounds going off? I thought that you were getting shot at! That you were in danger!"

"I…" She threw up her hands, her shoulders immediately sagging, her fight completely out of her. "I'm _sorry_! I didn't know...I just...it helps," she faltered, her voice breaking, and tears suddenly filling her eyes.

Gold rushed over, his chest aching at her crumpled face, and pulled her into his arms without thought. Belle instantly dissolved into tears, mumbling incoherent apologies into his chest, as he rubbed her back, trying to calm both of them, reassuring himself that she was indeed safe. "Shh…" he whispered, placing a kiss into her soft hair, as he held her tighter, trying to steady his shaking hands.

Belle soon stopped crying, but didn't try and pull back from his embrace. "Thank you," she whispered, looking up at him.

"It's no matter," he breathed back, his own voice shaky with emotion.

She gave him a slight quivering smile, and then barked a laugh, stepping away. "I made it a day at least," she said self-deprecatingly, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. "You must think that I'm a mess," she groaned, closing her eyes tight. "This isn't me. I'm not like this, I swear. It's just…I couldn't sleep and then I've always…this has always worked," she said, gesturing to the gun, as she wiped away more tears from her wet cheeks.

His heart clenched at the pain readily evident in her voice. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. Just…leave a note next time, or tell me?" he pleaded, earning another barking laugh and nod from her.

"Yes, yes. Of course."

"Here—" he said, "let's go back up to the house, and get something to eat."

Belle smiled, nodding. "Okay." She bent over and collected the large sniping gun, slinging it over her shoulders. It wasn't until then, that he noticed that she was wearing his clothes and an old pair of running shoes—all of which looked about three sizes too big her. His realization must have shown on his face because she blushed, shrugging. "They looked old—I just took them out of the back drawer. I'll wash them."

He waved her off. "No need. Whatever you want is yours."

"Thank you." She hooked his arm around his without asking, letting him lean on her for support as they walked back up the steep hill.

"I'll get you some clothes of your own when I go into town today."

"Town?"

"Priovac," he clarified. "It's a small city about twenty miles from here; it's a half-day sail. I haven't been here lately, so we need to stock up on supplies, food, and gas. I also need to pick up my dogs."

Belle smiled, arching an eyebrow. "Agent Gold has pets?"

He scoffed in mock annoyance. "Guard dogs, not pets, Agent French. There's a difference…you don't have a problem with large dogs, though? Because, I can leave them there—"

"No, no, I love dogs."

"Good. Good," he mumbled, hoping that she was telling the truth, because he was fairly sure that she hadn't seen dogs like these before. They continued to quietly walk back up the hill, arm in arm, with the morning sun warming their backs. "You may come if you wish."

Belle looked up in question.

"To town. Or not. Whatever you want." _Christ, he was a bumbling idiot around her._

"May I stay here? I mean…I'd like to go…I just don't know if I can get in another boat so soon after last night."

"Of course. Really, dearie, it's no matter. I'll be quick."

"Unless, you need me to go."

"I don't—" Gold paused, knowing that this was one of those questions that had a wrong answer, yet he wasn't sure which one to say. He'd like nothing better to have her by his side always, but her blood-shot eyes were proof enough that she was exhausted. "No, you rest here. I'll be right back."

She smiled, but the light slightly dimmed in her eyes, and he instantly knew that he'd chosen poorly.

"You can—"

"Do you mind if I read in your study while you're gone?" she asked at the same time, overriding his retort. "I mean…if you don't want me to, that's fine."

He blinked, startled by the quick change in conversation, but easily nodded back. "You may go anywhere you wish. I see you've already found the armory," he winked, nodding towards the gun slung across her shoulders. "There is a larger library down the hall from that room; help yourself to anything you like."

"Thank you." Belle squeezed his arm gently, giving him a small smile. "Will you leave soon?"

He looked over at the water behind them; it was relatively calm now, with a good breeze. "Not unless you would like me to stay."

"Oh, no. Don't wait for my sake. I'll be fine, here. Probably just end up sleeping the whole time you're gone anyways."

Her tone was too light. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Breakfast, first though, eh? "

"Breakfast sounds great."

His suggestion was rewarded with another warm smile. If he weren't careful, he knew he would become quickly addicted to these smiles.

…

It was a strange feeling coming home to someone. Coming home to someone who was waiting for them in return. Gold didn't know what to expect; he could only hope that she'd still be there. Every day that she didn't run, didn't turn him in, chipped away at the battle-hardened armor that he had worn for so many years. The terrifying part was that he didn't mind it. He wanted it, craved it—her warmth, her kindness, her smiles.

He'd damn near ran through the town, collecting and ordering the various supplies to be delivered to his boat, so he wouldn't keep her waiting long. The only store that gave him pause was a woman's clothing boutique. Damn store made for failure he quickly discovered, so he told the shopping attendant that his wife had lost her luggage and she needed to replace everything. And just to make sure, he bought two sizes of everything.

With his purchases made to last them at least a week or two, Gold had sailed his boat through the bay, and up the coast, to the small, peninsula at the mouth of the bay. His wolves had greeted him as he docked his boat, as did his old friend Goran's shotgun.

The old, retired captain had been a longtime acquaintance of Gold's ever since he had moved to the island when Bae was a young boy. The cantankerous bastard was nearly as ornery as Gold himself, which had put them at odds at first, but eventually, they formed a tentative friendship after Bae took a shine to him. A single father himself, the salty captain had offered to take care of Bae when Gold would have to leave out of town for missions, for which Gold was extremely grateful. He now took care of his four guard dogs when he would leave.

As much as he needed to catch up with the old bastard, he declined coffee, promising to return soon, to which Goran asked him if he would "meet her soon." Gold immediately stood, and gave his goodbyes, knowing when to exit before Goran's true ribbing began, but not before his friend presented him with a fresh fish for the "missus."

That had been two hours ago. Slow winds had delayed his return home, making him anxious that Belle would be worried that he hadn't kept his promise to return quickly. Wolfgang seemed to pick up on his mood, as he whined, nudging his wet nose along the back of Gold's palm. He smiled, patting the large wolfhound on the head. The old dog had been his longest companion on the island, and kept to his side, unlike his younger three counterparts. The four looked like a true pack of wolves, each standing nearly three and a half feet at their shoulders, with a thick, grey pelts, but, in fact, they were all impeccably trained guard dogs.

Slow swells finally brought his boat home, just as the sun beginning to lower in the distance, and he tied it to the long dock, on the opposite side of the Zodiac. The sixty-foot sailboat made the Zodiac look tiny in comparison, and the dogs leapt off to go investigate the new boat. Gold, in turn, took his time to secure his knots and unload his newly purchased goods off the boat and into the car.

With a simple command of "volno," the dogs took off towards the house, and Gold followed closely behind in the car. As he drove up the winding hill, he kept watch for Belle, but didn't see or hear anything.

All four were sitting at the door when he pulled into the driveway, their tails and tongues wagging, and he ordered them to stay, not wanting to frighten Belle, which they all obeyed, somewhat begrudgingly. He took the first two bags in the house, pushing open the door with his cane.

"French?" he called out. "I'm back."

He walked through the living room, and into the kitchen. His files from his safety-deposit box were strung across the kitchen table, along with a thick, English-Russian translation dictionary. "French?" he called out, louder, as he placed the bags containing the fish, and cold items in the refrigerator.

The house was still silent though. _She must be resting_; he rationalized, going back to the car for some more items.

By the time he was finished unpacking, Belle still hadn't appeared, so he grabbed his cane and began to look around the house, finding all three levels empty. "Belle?" he yelled, the name sounding strange on his lips. "I'm back."

He tried to fight back the panic, and the unsettling feeling that she may have left. That thought propelled him to look outside. Maybe she had taken to shooting again…or went for a walk…or a swim…anything but leaving. He didn't know if he could handle the thought that she'd left.

"Belle!" he called out again, stepping onto the terraced patio. She wasn't anywhere to be seen, so he walked over the railing; the view gave him a panoramic view of the lands surrounding the property.

His knees nearly gave out in relief when he spotted her sitting on a bench, in the garden below, with her back to him. He called out again, but she didn't stir.

Hobbling with as much grace as he could muster, he made his way down the long, stone staircase to the garden below. The garden was overgrown, due to his time away, and the overgrowth slowed him down as he picked his way through the uneven stone pathway.

Belle hadn't moved when he finally found her. Her knees were tucked up to her chest, and she was covered in a thin layer of dirt, sweat making her shirt stick to her. He coughed, trying to alert her to his presence, but she didn't move or acknowledge him, as she continued to stare out to the ocean in front of her; the bright rays of the sunset illuminated streaks of tears running down her cheeks.

"Belle," Gold called out, softer, not wanting to scare her.

This time, she looked over at him, her eyes red and glassy with tears, but she didn't make a move to wipe them away.

He was at her side in an instant, sitting down beside her, but she didn't make a move towards him, as she did in the morning. Instead, she was remained distant, resuming her staring out at the horizon. At a loss of what he should do, Gold simply sat quietly next to her, offering her his company. "I'm sorry, I'm late," he finally said, in an effort to break the tension.

Belle turned, looking at him in confusion, another tear slipping down her cheek.

"The winds weren't with me, otherwise I would've been here sooner. I'm sorry."

She sniffled, wiping a tear from her cheek. "It's fine. I just..." she trailed off, shrugging helplessly.

"Are you okay?" he asked, feeling foolish as soon as the words left his lips, but he quickly recovered, and he gestured to the blood, staining the backs of her socks, in explanation.

"Oh." She looked, seemingly surprised at her condition. "I went for a run."

Gold frowned, unable to look away from the blood. "Where did you go?"

"Around the island. The shooting wasn't working, so I needed to run."

"The whole island?"

She nodded, lowering her eyes from his gaze.

He could only manage a dumfounded "oh" in return. How she was still conscious was a small miracle. The perimeter of the island had to be nearly twenty-five miles, at least.

The silence once again descended upon them, awkward and thick. Gold hated it, especially not knowing what he could say, or do, to take away the pain emanating from her every pore.

"What can I do?" he finally asked, willing to do anything to break the unnerving silence.

His words made her lips quiver, and she took a deep, shaky, steadying breath, before shaking her head, closing her eyes as she did so.

"Please, tell me."

Belle swallowed, lowering her eyes, as she wiped her wet cheeks again. "She's going to kill my father," she breathed, her voice cracking with every word.

"What? No," Gold said, fervently, startled that she would come to such a conclusion.

She simply shook her head, her breath hitching as she stifled another sob.

"Belle, your father is a four-star general. Mills isn't getting anywhere near him."

"Like she couldn't get to you?" she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I saw your file; you were their top operative, and then, suddenly she's blacklisting you, and sending people to kill you—to kill me. No one says anything, no one does anything to stop her."

"French," he interrupted, "your father and me are completely different. She can't touch him. And we _will _stop her. I'm not going to let her get away with this, I swear."

"But she'll use him to get to me. I know it. You know how this works…" she trailed off, wiping a tear, her lips quivering again. "He…I can't let anything happen to him, Gold. I don't care what happens to me, but my father…he's worked so hard, and, and I'm here…and I…" she sobbed, breaking down again.

Gold pulled her towards him; her racking sobs felt like knives piercing in his chest, as she held her closer, trying to take away her pain. "Belle, I swear, nothing will happen to your father," he whispered into her hair, rocking her. "I'll make the call right now. I can make sure he's safe."

Belle nodded against his chest, and he felt her tears soak his shirt, but he didn't care. All he wanted to do was take away her pain, to make her feel safe, to keep her wrapped in his arms, forever.

Her sobs slowly subsided after a long while, and she simply sunk against his chest, lying against him, with their arms loosely intertwined, as he continued to stroke her back, watching the sun slowly edge towards the horizon together. It was quiet, peaceful.

Finally, once the sun dipped below the horizon, Gold made a move to stand, silently offering his hand to her.

Belle took it without hesitation, allowing him to pull her up off the bench, and lead her back through the garden. They'd nearly reached the staircase to the house when Belle froze, jerking him to a stop.

"Belle?"

Her body was absolutely rigid, and she clenched her hand around his. "There's something in the bushes," she whispered, motioning with her eyebrows towards the tall grass.

"Wha—"

"_Shh!_ Right there! Don't move."

Gold looked around, spotting the dark shapes in the bushes, and growled in irritation. "Ke mne!"

Instantly, his four dogs bounded to him, causing Belle to yelp and press herself against his side.

"My dogs," he said in irritation.

"Your _dogs_?"

"Saarloos Wolfhounds. They're tame. They won't hurt you." As proof, he called them to their side, allowing them to sniff Belle, and then giving a stern "protect" command in their trained Czech language.

Belle still seemed wary as she carefully reached out to pet one. "Do they have names?"

"Yes, uh…that one is Hans, Jager is to the right, Panzer is the dark one in the back, and this is Wolfgang," he said, pointing to the largest dog, standing closest to him.

"Wolfgang?" she chuckled, raising a teasing eyebrow. "That's original."

"The _composer_, not the...nevermind," he said, waving his hand in explanation, as the large dog padded over to his new mistress, rubbing his large head against her leg. "He's the old man around here; the other three track the property during the day."

Belle nodded, but didn't seem convinced; Wolfgang, however, didn't seem to notice her concern and attached himself to her side as they slowly made their way up the stairs, with Gold's limp slowing them down as he fought back the pain with every rising step.

Finally reaching the top, Gold held open the door, letting Belle inside. "I'll get dinner prepared—you go wash up."

"I can help—"

"Nonsense," he gently corrected. "You're my guest. Take your time, m'dear, and I'll take care of everything down here."

Belle smiled, her eyes full of warmth and gratitude. "Thank you."

"Of course. Now, go. I'll be here when you return," he added with a smile.

Acquiesced, Belle shyly smiled, and made her way up the stairs, giving him one last glance over her shoulder.

…

"What is this?"

"Bluefin with sataraš. Do you like it?"

Belle took another bite, and smiled. "This is amazing. I can't remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal."

Gold grinned, watching her eat, excited to have pleased her with such a simple dish. "I must cook for you more often, then."

"You cook for all the girls you bring here?"

"Yes."

Belle's mouth opened, a flash of embarrassment crossing her face, before she looked back down, and took another bite.

"But, then, you're the only one I've ever brought here," he quickly added.

"Oh. Well…thank you," she smiled, a blush creeping into her features.

"I'm glad that you enjoy it," he softly replied, taking a pause in his own eating to pour them both some more wine. "How did the reading go?"

Belle frowned, sipping her glass. "What?" She turned, seeing the papers on the table nearby. "Oh. Not well. It's all in Russian and German and I can't understand a bit of it. Will you help me? I tried, but I ended up having to leave it. Thus, the run."

"Well, we can't have that. I will start first thing tomorrow."

"Thanks," she said absently, swirling her wine around. A long moment passed between them, and Gold waited, sensing that she was thinking. Finally, she closed her eyes, pained, opening them, only to avert his questioning gaze. "Gold?"

"Yes?"

"May I…" she stopped, closing her eyes again. "I need to ask you a question."

Curious, he splayed his hands out, waiting for her to ask. "Anything."

"I need to know what is going on. Is…is this real, what we're dealing with? I've thought all day, and I feel lost. Who are we up against?"

Gold moved around the island to sit beside her. "What are you asking me?"

"I need to know if it's true. Mills, Malus…everything. I know it doesn't matter now, but—"

"You want to know that you're not having dinner with a traitor."

"_No_. No, not that. I just…my father's going to get a call, telling him that I've betrayed my country, and I need to know that that's not true."

Gold nodded, understanding. "You deserve much more than that, Belle, I assure you. But you're no traitor—the farthest from it." He paused, suddenly overcome with the inexplicable feeling of being confined in the large, spacious kitchen. "Do you mind if we continue this outside? Sit down for a bit?"

"Of course," Belle said, picking up her wine glass to follow him out to the patio outside.

The warm, summer night provided a stark contrast to the sick feeling in his stomach.

"It's lovely out here."

"Indeed." He paused, licking his lips. "First, I need to tell you something. I made a call to an old contact that specializes in protection detail. I've hired him to keep watch over your father, as well as your colleagues, Agents Blanchard and Swan. No one will get near them, lest they meet an unfortunate end. He is regarded as the best."

"Do they know?"

"None the wiser, dearie."

"And Mary? Did they say if she is doing better?"

"I only gave him the names. He does the rest. I may be able to get in contact with him later, but once in the field, he doesn't contact his employers as a rule."

"You didn't have to do that."

He shrugged. "It's the least that I could do, for what you've done for me," he quickly finished, mumbling the last words. Looking up, he noticed that Belle hadn't missed them, so he quickly averted his eyes, giving an uncomfortable cough to dispel the tension he was feeling. "There's an issue of payment though. I've provided enough for his down payment, but you will have to transfer some money from my accounts to his, by tomorrow at the latest."

"I couldn't possibly ask you to pay for this! I will pay you back."

"No, you won't. I won't allow it. But you do have the ability to access the accounts still, though?"

Belle nodded, clearly still peeved, but at least it seemed resigned to the idea.

"Good," he sighed, taking another sip of wine. "Well, now that that matter's settled, I suppose I'll start at the beginning?"

Belle simply curled up more in the large, chair beside him, and took another sip of wine, and looked softly at him, trusting, waiting. It gave him enough courage in his cowardly bones to start, to tell his tale.

"I grew up in a town outside of Edinburgh. We were poor and there weren't many options for men of my social standing—university certainly wasn't an option. I was destined to work in some low-level job, or the army. I joined the army, not for courage, mind you, but rather, because I wanted to get out of that bloody city. The army was my ticket out, so I took it. Around that time, the Cold War was in full swing, with the Americans and Soviets going full bore at it. I wasn't much of a fighter, but they soon discovered that I was able to pick up languages and find keys to codes quickly, so I was assigned to the cryptanalytic department.

"During my time there, I worked with an MI6 agent, who I knew as Lieutenant Spencer at the time. We collaborated on several Russian assignments; often with him bringing me coded notes that I would search for the key for in the off-hours. He referred to it as "spin work." I didn't mind or ask any questions; I enjoyed the challenge of finding the slight detail, or phrase that would break a code wide open. When I was finished, I would give him mine and we would 'compare' our results.

"This went on for several years, until one day, while we were on leave, he brought me to the SIS building, instead of the pub that we were planning on visiting. We went directly to the top floor, where there were three men waiting for us, including the Director of MI6 at the time. They wanted to know if I was 'the spinner' who had cracked Drozdov's code. It seemed that I had naively, and unwittingly, become Spencer's asset. That night, they offered me a job—to find, infiltrate, and eliminate KGB infiltrates within the U.K.—and I accepted the position immediately.

"I was good. Very good at my job. Soon, Spencer was no longer my handler, but rather, my partner, and we worked together, tracking down KGB agents, but most of the agents were lower level. I wanted to go bigger, higher, and eliminate their handlers. I knew from my interrogations that there were at least three high-level operatives from the First Directorate—now referred to the S Directorate—that worked within Europe. These three operatives reported directly to the Director of the KGB and were in charge of all the deep agents, currently working throughout the world, as well as being involved in planning sabotage and terrorist attacks against other nations. My plan was to track them down, and eliminate them. MI6 wasn't confident and told me to cease working on the project.

"One of my contacts at the CIA, working in London at the time, alerted me to a possibility that Langley was interested in the project and offered me the opportunity to work for them instead. He also said that they would be lenient in their demands, as long as I kept to the assignment. With MI6 not allowing me pursue what I wanted; I took the job, along with the subsequent freeze out from my former colleagues. I didn't care though. Spencer understood, and we've kept in contact over the years.

"As part of my cover, I 'bought' a shipping company, assuming the identity of a German importer, Alamar, as you know. I became quite successful, amassing a large fortune, which gave me access to an echelon of people not easily accessed, some of whom had deep connections to the KGB.

"During one such society event that I was attending in Prague, I walked outside to have a smoke, and by pure circumstance, overheard a couple arguing. They were conversing in Russian, which caught my attention, but I paid it no mind, that was until I saw the woman in question. It was Regina Milyukov. I knew Mills, at the time, to be a low-level KGB agent working in the area, but she was too far below anything that I was targeting to be of any interest of mine, so I walked away, paying it no mind. The only thing I really remember from that night was the sheer unprofessionalism and lack of tradecraft Mills displayed by having such a public fight.

"The next day, I received an urgent request for a meeting from an asset I had cultivated within the First Directorate in Moscow. He said that he needed to talk to me at once about a murder of a young waiter in the streets the night before. I nearly told him to 'fuck off,' but then, he informed me that there was a flurry of activity the day before in the office, and that he thought a hit had gone out from the head of the First Directorate. He sent me the photograph of the young man—it was the same man that Mills had been arguing with the night before, and he had three shots to the chest—the hit signature of Krasnaya Koroleva—the Red Queen—one of the three assets that I was trying to find. She rarely took such direct action before; she was only a handler.

"I found Mills the next night, much to her surprise, right as she was packing to leave. She was terrified, and hysterical, ranting on and on about how her mother had her fiancée killed. Now, it didn't take me long to put it the two-and-two together, as you would assume, so I immediately gave her an offer for a deal. I told her that I would provide a cover, job, and asylum in the US, if she would provide me the information on her controller and assets.

"She accepted the deal without thought; she was desperate, saying that she was going to be taken out. I had her on a plane bound for Quebec within the hour, and smuggled her in through the border in Maine, setting her up in a small town while I created her rock-solid cover of an agent. It took me less than a week to get all the necessary paperwork in line. I simply explained that she was a sleeper agent, one that I had to pull out because she was outted, and that she was to be put to a desk job. It was never questioned and Regina Milyukov started her new life as Regina Mills. Once she was debriefed, I left, returning here to resume my hunt.

"Five years later, I was still no closer to finding the Red Queen or any other of the three. With every door I opened, one closed, but I continued to search, waited patiently for my moment…and five years later it came. It seemed that poor Mills wasn't as innocent, or as naïve, as she had tried to make me believe. In the short time since I left her, she had quickly ascended to a position within the SOC. She also resumed contacting her handlers within the SVR."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"_Nothing?"_

"Of course. Mills going back to her roots was exactly as I predicted and hoped for. In fact, she went back far sooner than I thought she would. Subtlety, my dear, is key; her theatrics when I first turned her were way too over the top. It was clear that she was trying too hard to have me turn her."

"Were you able to find her handler?"

"No. Most of the information was sent at a low level, and it wasn't specific or rare enough to determine that it had come from her, specifically. I was hoping that once she ascended and got access to higher-level information, it would become easier to track the where it ended up, hopefully to the end of her leash. But as much as I tried, I couldn't find her handler, but I became positive that it was Krasnaya Koroleva. I tried tracking her down in every way possible. But that particular bitch proved to be very illusive.

"I operated on the theory that Koroleva was Mills' mother; the evidence was too strong not to investigate every possibility. However, according to records, Cora Milyukov died when Regina was fifteen, but there are also internal KGB memos, some of which are on that table inside the house, that reference her name, long after her death. All that is known about the Red Queen is her MO—the three shots to the heart. After that, the trail goes cold, other than second-hand sources and rumors. I tracked down some suspects and kept them in that safe box in Vaduz, along with an identical set of copies in another safe box in New Zealand."

Belle frowned, and he could see her going over the information in her mind, analyzing it. "But, why…so you think that the Red Queen knew that you were getting close, that one of those suspects is _actually_ her, so she had Regina blacklist you?"

Gold raised his own eyebrows, impressed. "Very good. At least I hope that that is the case."

Belle snorted, nearly choking on her wine.

"What?"

"It's just…I think you're the first person that I've known that was happy that they were black-listed."

Gold tipped his head, seeing the humor. "I suppose," he admitted, taking another sip of the Merlot.

"But why now? Why come out of hiding after all this time? Did it have something to do with Malus?"

"Partly. I saw Malus as an opportunity. I still don't know what that particular operation entails, other than what I've already told you, but I knew that since Mills was involved, if I made an appearance, she would be threatened and suspect that I was aiming to out her. I assumed that Mills would come confront me directly, but really, I was hoping that it would be her handler to come and deliver her message personally."

"Since she came out of hiding to kill Mills' lover?"

"Precisely."

"But that's what I don't understand. Why would she come out and kill that man? Why not have Mills do it and not take the risk of eliminating such a low level target?"

"True love, dearie."

"True love?"

"Aye," he nodded. "No disease has killed more people and Mills' lover proved to be no exception. Apparently, during that night before the party, Mills told him about her true occupation. She thought that he would accept her after he told him the truth; but instead, he wanted to run away with her, to save her. I believe that her handler wanted to teach Mills a lesson, as well as eliminate any threat to expose her."

"But why not kill Mills too?"

"Mother's love? Revenge? To teach her a lesson? I don't know."

"But…what I don't understand, is why send me to kill you? Why not come herself?"

"A severe misstep on her part, obviously. I think she recognized your talents for being an efficient and talented operative, and figured that you would kill me easily. That way, she would be able to distance herself, while still achieving her goal of having me dead. However, it's clear that she didn't count on you to be as smart, or as clever, as you proved to be. You're quite extraordinary to be able to see the discrepancies in the order she gave you. She should have talked to Spencer first...as I did."

Belle cheeks flushed, as she hid her face behind her wine glass, taking another sip. "You talked to Spencer about me? What did he say?"

"Quite a lot, actually. Let me see if I remember this correctly," he pantomimed, pressing a finger to his chin. "Agent French, eh? Never have those Yanks produced such a fine vintage as that woman. You better know what you're doing, Gold, because I believe that this time, you may be thoroughly fucked. Good luck, though," he grinned, mimicking Spencer's aristocratic accent perfectly.

Belle laughed, buckling over into her seat. "He didn't!"

"Oh, he surely did, indeed. Not that it did me much good. I ended up underestimating you anyways."

"You did get that jump on me, though. You and that damn knife of yours."

"Which I truly regret. But alas, I must bow to you in the end, as it was your idea to use those files I gave him against me. A move, which I now admit, may have not have been the best idea of mine."

"But if you didn't, then maybe we wouldn't be here now, so maybe, it was actually a good idea."

"Perhaps," he quietly replied, holding her gaze. It was a comfortable, easy moment between them; Gold couldn't tell if it was the wine, or Belle's company, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to talk so freely with someone.

"And Black?"

He waved his hand, swirling around the last remaining wine in his glass. "A necessary evil. Black had been sent to kill me; she ambushed me outside a steel mill, after she eliminated a contact of mine. I'd figured out what was going on, and ambushed her in return. Right before she died, she told me that I was black-listed, so I eliminated her. It wasn't personal. Afterwards, of course, I found out that I wasn't officially black-listed until _after_ I killed her, but by then, the status had become a mere formality. The pieces were already set in motion. So I did what I do best—I returned to the shadows and waited for my opportunity."

"Malus."

"Malus," he agreed.

"So you've been here alone, with no one else, ever since the order?"

"Not the whole time. I would occasionally leave, to conduct business at my various corporations, or to meet with contacts to hear what was going on. There are also cities nearby, where I get supplies and have a handful of acquaintances, but in short, yes, I've lived here alone since then."

She sat back and looked at him, quietly. "Do you think you'll ever find her?"

The question gave him pause. For the first time, he had doubts. Not of his success, but of what he would be willing sacrifice to get it. Before, he would've done anything. Now, he had to take care of someone else for the first time since Bae. "I hope. But if not, I'll have the satisfaction of taking Mills out, and getting you back home. That's enough for me, for now."

Belle nodded, offering a small smile, which turned into a yawn, causing a rosy blush to spread across her dimpled cheeks. "I'm sorry—it's the wine," she waved in explanation. "I never drink."

"Oh," he cringed, not knowing.

"No, no, it's lovely, really," she interrupted, as if she could read his mind. "I just…well, I was a lightweight before the service, and then afterwards, when I wasn't allowed to drink, the lack of alcohol certainly didn't help my tolerance. This though—" she said, lifting her glass, tipping it towards him, "this is amazing."

"It's from Buzet, a town to the north of here."

"Such a connoisseur. Spencer would be proud."

"Spencer would be disgusted, force me to throw it out, and then call me an unsophisticated jock," he chuckled back. "That wannabe sommelier won't sniff anything less than a five-hundred pound bottle."

"True," she laughed, yawning again. "I think I'm going to head up to bed before I fall asleep out here."

Gold stood up in turn, and walked over to hold the door open for her.

She paused in the doorway, blocking their entry into the home. "Thank you again for dinner…and for telling me."

He watched her walk determinedly past him, and into the kitchen, opening and closing each of the drawers.

"Do you have a pen?"

"What?"

"A pen." She mimed the motion, while she opening another drawer. "Ahh—here."

Curious, he walked over to her, stopping on the opposite side of the island, watching her carefully write on a spare piece of paper.

"Here," she said, holding out the paper to him.

"What is this?" He took the note from her, and instantly became alarmed, seeing the numbers and bank names written in order on it.

Belle smiled, tipping her head at the paper. "Our deal. Those are the accounts, passwords, and bank names. It's all there, as promised."

A sharp pang of fear tore through him, and his heart pounded in his chest. _She's leaving._ He quickly handed back the piece of paper. "No, you keep it."

"Wha—Gold, this is your…you did as you said. You told me, so here you go. It's yours."

_She's leaving. She's leaving you._ "I don't want it. Keep it." If she kept it, then she would have to stay.

Belle frowned, confusion clear on her face. "I don't understand. It's _yours_. Take it."

"Please keep it."

"Why?"

"Because…just keep it," he pleaded, hating the desperation laced in his tone.

Belle solemnly nodded, folding the paper and tearing it up. "Okay. But, I want you to know that it's yours whenever you want it though. All you have to do is ask."

Confusion tore at him like tiny knives. What did this mean? Is she leaving? All he could do was nod, not trusting himself to say anything that would tip the scale either way.

"I'm going to head up. Good night," she quietly said, reaching forward to run her hand down his arm.

Gold stepped aside, letting her pass, and felt an aching, knowing pain in his chest, sensing that he was missing an opportunity, that he was losing her… _Fuck_, he closed his eyes, trying to shake off his fear. "Belle?"

Belle froze in place in the doorway at his voice, turning around. "Yes?"

He swallowed, trying to force anything out of his mouth, which had suddenly gone bone dry. "Aiden," he forced out, the name feeling strange on his lips after not hearing it for so long. "My name is Aiden." His poor effort was rewarded with a bright smile, her eyes creasing.

"Good night, Aiden," she smiled. "I'll see you in the morning."

His face drew into a smile in turn, drawn like a magnet to its pair. "Good night, Belle." For the second time in his life, Gold felt something strange. It felt like trust.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Gold awoke to find himself once again in an empty bed. He sat up and frowned, hoping that his mind wasn't playing cruel tricks on him again, that he hadn't imagined Belle crawling into his bed with him last night, but the unmistakable depression in the pillow and mattress beside him quickly quelled his fear.

As with the night before, Belle had entered his room in the middle of the night. She had been so quiet slipping into bed that he never would have noticed had he not had already been awake, hoping that she would return.

Dressing quickly, in his customary dress shirt and slacks, he made his way down to the kitchen, noticing that it had been cleaned since last night, with the papers put away, and the dried dishes returned to their cupboards. _Belle_, he thought, with a smile. He'd have to remind her that she was his guest, not his housemaid. There was also a spare sheet of white paper on the counter, which upon closer examination, had a brief message scrawled on it, in a familiar script.

_Went for a swim at the harbor—took your car _

_Be back in an hour or so_

_Please don't shoot me._

Gold chuckled, placing the note aside, and poured himself a cup of coffee, from the already started pot, while he checked the security panel on the wall. A familiar scraping at the window drew his attention to patio terrace, where his three wolves were sitting, waiting expectantly, with Wolfgang conspicuously absent, although Gold had an inkling where the old wolf had wandered off to—not that Belle would appreciate it, if he were correct.

He let them inside, fed them, and then left them to their own devices as he took the thick folder of his documents and went outside. The morning air was already warm with the promise of a hot summer day, despite the early hour; it was a familiar comfort that Gold enjoyed, as he sat down and took another sip of the bitter liquid.

Even though he hadn't read through the old files in years, the words came back to him quickly as he read the first page; endless nights and days of reading them over and over, made the reading nearly automatic as he continued to scan through the pages.

The first thing he immediately noticed was that the pages had been completely reordered, with no two pages in correct succession. He had originally divided the six-inch file into three sections, with each section focusing on op reports, observations, and internal KGB memos about the three most likely suspects he'd gathered could be the Red Queen. Unwittingly, Belle had rearranged them all in a haphazard manner as she had tried to make sense of them yesterday. Gold pinched his brow, feeling a headache start, as he thought of what would be required to start making heads or tails of this, before he could begin translating it for her. However, he determinedly pushed away his complaints; Belle had asked little of him, for as much as she had given, he would translate the pages without complaint.

His eyes had other plans, though, and by the time he had finished compiling the second report, the headache that had been building was pulsing behind his eyes; the little, blurry characters, from the photocopied documents, were doing him no favors. It was only another painful reminder of his age, which he detested with a passion. As if he needed any other reminders, besides the knee he dragged around with him.

Slowly, Gold stood, easing up out of the chair, not wanting to aggravate his aches further, and walked back into the house. _Where did I put those bloody things?_ He thought, walking up towards his study, after a quick, fruitless search in the kitchen for his glasses.

The door to his study—or rather, Belle's room now—was slightly ajar, so he knocked quietly, not wanting to disturb her if she had returned. He hadn't heard her enter the house, but she was nothing if not extremely stealthy, as he was finding out from experience.

"Belle?" he tried again, knocking louder on her door.

There was no answer though, so he walked inside. The bed was still made in exactly the same fashion as two nights before, but the room itself was completely transformed. No longer the study of a madman, with books and objects strung about in a haphazard manner, it was now completely pristine, with the books carefully arranged around the large desk by the window, and in the nearby bookshelves. Wide-eyed, Gold took another step into the room, still not believing what she had accomplished in this short of time.

"Oh!"

Gold jumped, whipping around at the sound of Belle's cry.

Belle stood in the doorway in nothing but a white towel, wrapped from her thighs to her chest, and in what he could only pray was a swimsuit that her wet tresses were covering. "I'm sorry. I didn't know—"

"No, I—" He stopped, getting caught up in her current state of undress. "I…uh…needed to get my glasses," he stuttered, tearing his eyes away from her to helplessly gesture towards the desk across the room.

"Oh, right," she smiled. "I'm sorry. I'll just go—"

"_No,_" he said. Belle immediately froze mid-turn, causing him to cringe at his loud voice. "I'll just be a moment, and then, I'll be gone."

She moved into the room, her towel slipping in the process, revealing that it definitely wasn't the bathing suit he'd bought her, but rather her bra. "I think I saw them while I was over here," she said, absently, walking over to the desk.

Gold followed her across the room, keeping his distance, as he tried in vain to avert his eyes, while she searched through the drawers of his newly, immaculately clean desk.

"Ahh…here we are!" she exclaimed, turning quickly around, startling him, as she brightly smiled, presenting his reading glasses to him.

"Thank you."

"Of course. I hope you don't mind that I arranged everything. I didn't move anything—just tidied up a bit."

"You didn't have to do that," he weakly protested.

She shrugged. "It was no problem. I had the time. I figured that I could make myself useful."

"Ah, thank you." He fidgeted as he tried to think of something else to say, but could come up with nothing else. "I'll leave you then," he bowed, turning away from her.

"Aiden?"

He froze in place, startled at the sound of his name. "Yes?"

Belle bit her lip. "Do you mind if I borrow some more of your clothes for today?"

"The clothes didn't fit?" Gold frowned; dismayed that he'd been unable to provide that simple comfort for her. That bloody salesperson, he _knew _that he'd bought the wrong thing.

Belle frowned in turn. "I mean, they're a little large, but they're fine."

_Large?_ "Both sizes were?"

"Both…" she shook her head, furrowing her brow in confusion. "What clothes are you talking about?"

"The ones I bought you."

"You bought me clothes?" she asked, her face visibly brightening.

Gold was lost. "Yes. Of course. Didn't you see them? I left them on the counter for you. I thought you took them?"

Belle laughed, shaking her head. "The white bags?" He nodded. "I thought that they were yours—something that you bought in town. I put them in your room this morning."

"Well, they're yours, if you'll have them."

Belle beamed, slightly bowing her head. "Why, thank you, sir," she smiled, giggling at herself.

"Of course." Gold bowed back, his mouth pulling into a smile. "I will, uh, leave you to it then," he said quickly, turning to leave the room so he wouldn't keep her any longer.

"Oh, and Aiden?"

The sound of his name stopped him again; he wasn't sure if he was ever going to get used to hearing it. "Yes?"

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment again, and her hands fidgeted. "I don't want to bother you, but I was wondering if you could help me with something? It'll only take a short while—"

"I have all the time in the world," he smiled. "I'm at your service."

"I didn't say what I wan—right," she laughed, shaking her head at his raised brow. "Thank you. I'll, uh, be right out then," she nodded, gesturing to the bathroom.

"Take your time, dearie, I'll be downstairs."

Belle smiled again. He was up to six—not that he was keeping track. "Thank you, really. I'll be fast."

…

"Keep going."

"Here?"

Gold looked through the binoculars, checking at the distance checker, waving her farther. "You're at 900," he announced into his walkie-talkie.

Belle was a mere spec in the distance, standing nearly a half a mile down on the beach from where he was observing her from. He watched her walk further down the beach, dragging a large bag and metal sheet behind her.

"That's 1000."

"Got it," Belle's static voice replied. Her small figure stopped, bending down to deposit the large bag, and then took the large, metal sheet, positioning it in front of it.

"Is that the last one?"

"That's it. Thank you."

Gold's walkie-talkie beeped off, as he watched her jump into the car she had parked nearby. It took her nearly ten minutes to return to the high hill from where he was marking the distances, due to the island only having one road that meandered about, until it finally crisscrossed up the small hill.

A billowing cloud of dust announced her arrival as she parked the car by the lookout, bounding out of the car, her hair flying in the wind. She was once again donning some of his old clothing. As she had explained at the house, after thanking him profusely for the clothes he'd bought her, his clothes were simply much better for shooting, compared to the dresses he had purchased her. In response, he had handed her a drawer-full more.

"Thank you!" she called out, walking to the back of the car, removing a large, MK 15 sniper rifle from the trunk. The large weapon was over thirty pounds, and she grunted as she heaved it over her shoulder, picking up a large box of ammo, before she closed the back. He had forgotten that he had even owned all of this weaponry; years of stockpiling were yielding surprises at every turn. "Here you go," she said, holding out the keys.

He took them, along with the large box of ammo from her hands.

"No, wait—what?"

Gold glanced over his shoulder, grinning at her protest. "You didn't think that I would help you set all of this up, and not stay to at least see it in use?"

Belle snickered, raising a knowing eyebrow of her own, and continued past him to set the gun down on the ground, propping it up on its bi-pod. It took a few minutes to setup the large gun, but Belle was quick and efficient about it; her fluid, practiced movements were that of a well-trained and practiced marksman. "Are you sure you want to stay? I don't want to keep you," she asked, pushing herself up off of the ground.

"Nonsense," he gently retorted, tipping his head to insert his earplugs. "It's never seen a two-time ISC champion in action. I want to see what a marksman of that caliber shoots like."

"Sort of like a one-time champion, but, you know, twice as good," Belle tartly replied, barely able to contain her grin from her jab.

_Oh, so _tha_t was how it was going to be._ "If I'm not mistaken, dearie, that sounded like a challenge."

"Did it? I thought I was simply answering your question," she shrugged, pursing her lips in mock innocence.

A sly grinned pulled across his face at her subtle challenge. "It did indeed. I'm game, unless you are opposed to such a contest."

"Oh, it's a _contest,_ now? I'll warn you, I'm two-for-two in those."

"That may be the case, but as we all know, it's who you're competing against is what truly matters. When I won, I beat out three former champions."

"And?"

"And what?"

Belle barked out a laugh. "And that's supposed to intimidate me?"

_Yes._ Or apparently not, judging by the smug look on her face, which brightened considerably when he tried to match it with his own confident glare.

"I see," she said seriously, nodding. "So what you're saying is that if I shoot better than you, then I can claim to have beat eight former champions." He opened his mouth to retort, but shut it, watching her stalk over to him, her hips swaying in confidence. "You see, Gold, when I shot in the competition, I beat out _four_ former champions—twice. Seems that they thought that the first time was a fluke, so they just had to come back for more."

_This woman._ "Best out of five."

"Three. I wouldn't want to waste your time."

"Deal," he grinned, feeling the excitement of competition creep up on him. "And what are we playing for?"

Belle frowned, confused. "We're playing? I thought we were simply confirming that I am the better shooter?"

"Ah—"

"You know what, on second thought—I'll give you five shots. You might need a warm-up."

Gold clicked his jaw, his competitive fire being stroked with her every word, as she breezed by him with the scope needed to monitor the distance and wind. "I don't need a warm-up. Three shots."

"You can't say that I didn't give you a chance," she said, cheekily mouthing, "two-time," over her shoulder, as she raised two fingers at him. "Would you like to go first?"

"Oh, no. Ladies, first," he gestured with flourish. "I insist."

"Such a gentleman."

He narrowed his eyes back at her, feigning his irritation as he gestured for her to continue on, when in fact, he felt anything but. After yesterday, he was simply glad to see her smile, let alone feel well enough to resume their banter that he had missed so much. It had been a long time someone put up such a challenge to him, rarer still for that person to be so brazenly bold about it. So if she wanted to try—t_ry _being the operative word, of course—to beat him at this little game, he would do it with pleasure.

"800 or 1,000, your choice," she said, splaying herself out into a sniper's shooting position on the ground in front of him

"1,000. Let's not make anything easier than it already is," he replied, handing her a pair of binoculars over her shoulder.

"Hmm, very well."

Gold watched as she took the binoculars, squinting her eyes in deep concentration as she evaluated the tin target, and then adjusted the trim dials. "Do you need a pen and paper for your calculations?"

"If you're trying to distract me…." _**BANG! **_"…it won't work."

A distinct shudder of the target, along with a small hole, directly in its center, confirmed her hit through his binoculars. _How the hell…?_ He was dumbfounded; he had never seen a shooter set up and shoot that fast _ever_, especially not in this sort of wind. And talking all the while, not even bothering, or making an attempt, at controlling her breath. He looked through his binoculars again, needing to see the small hole again. _That had to be a lucky shot; there was no other explanation._ "A little wide on that one, French?" he observed nonchalantly, trying to keep his voice as disinterested as possible.

"Hmm...looks pretty dead on to me. But, by all means, please, show me how it's done," she teased, putting down her own binoculars, and gesturing towards the lowered gun. She pushed herself up, dusting herself off, as they stitched positions. He shifted his weight onto his good leg, trying to avoid hitting her, but Belle leaned in closer, knowingly brushing up against his side, to press her lips near his ear. "Two time," she whispered, under her breath.

_Christ._ Her low, rough whisper sent shivers down his spine, instantly causing his breath to hitch, and all thought to go straight out of his head, and directly to his groin_._ He forcibly steadied himself, reminding himself that she had enough problems, let alone a man nearly twice her wanting throw her down and have his way with her.

"Do you need help setting that up?"

He snapped back to attention, clearing his thoughts once more. "I'm fine," he gruffly replied back, as he fiddled with the gun. _Now, how the fuck does this damn thing work, again?_ Not that he would ever admit it to French, but he was several years out of practice shooting this behemoth of a gun. His days of lying on the hard ground, crawling into position, only to wait for hours on end, were long behind him; he hadn't made an actual sniping shot in nearly a decade, preferring to use other means. His knee seemed to be eager to remind him of that fact too, as a sharp stab of pain wrenched through him, causing him to wince.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Belle lie down next to him, with a grunt. She shifted closer, bringing her binoculars up to look at the target, and tipped her head towards him. "Did I mention that I'm the current record holder for the highest marksmanship in the contest?"

"No, I don't believe you did."

"Oh. Well, I am," she said flatly, continuing to look straight out at the target. "Wind's picking up. Do you need me to call it for you?"

"I'm fine, dearie." He tried to calm himself, but his mind was betraying him, causing him to be more focused on the proximity of Belle's hip to his own, rather than on the actual target. His quickly took the measurements, sending up a prayer that they were right, and pulled the trigger slowly. _**BANG!**_

A second later, Belle hummed in approval next to him. "Nice shot."

He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not, so he quickly picked up his binoculars, and saw a second hole, next to hers, on the makeshift target. _Thank god_. "Your shot, French," he said, grunting as he shifted himself over in the dirt, not trusting his leg to not give out if he tried to stand up.

Belle nimbly crab-crawled over into place, squinting through in the scope. "Eager to get this over with, Gold?"

"No, I—"

_**BANG!**_

"How the hell are you doing that?" The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. He picked up his binoculars again, just to make sure his eyes hadn't deceived him. Yes, there was indeed a new hole _closer_ to the center than her original one.

"Doing what?"

"You're barely setting up."

"Impressed?"

"Yes."

Belle beamed, her two, perfect dimples accenting her rosy cheeks. "Well, I did have practice yesterday."

"No normal human being should be able to shoot like that. Do it again."

She simply shrugged, lowering herself over the eyepiece again, after taking a quick look through the scope.

_**BANG! **_

A direct shot, not even an inch to the right of her last. The sheer physics of it were nearly impossible in these conditions.

"Your turn," she said, shifting back over to the left to allow room for him to shoot. "What? You can't possibly think that a little flattery is going to end this, do you? You have two shots, Gold," she winked.

He shook himself, and shifted back over, eying the target through the scope. He checked the wind, and then lowered himself back down, putting his finger on the trigger slowly pulling the trigger. Breathe in…out..._**BANG!**_

"Hit." Belle confirmed beside him. "Hmm. No pressure, now, but you need to hit this one, or else I'm going to have the pleasure of reminding you about it forever."

"Well, we can't have that can we," he mumbled, checking the winds again, feeling Belle scoot closer, nearly flush with his side. Every sense tingled in awareness of her proximity. "Something you need to check, dearie?" he forced out.

"Just wanted to see what you dialed it in to is all."

"Hmm…and this wouldn't be you trying to distract me?"

She leaned closer, her head nearly resting in his arm. "Why? Is it working?"

He glanced over his shoulder to see a grinning Belle; her eyes were simply alight with mischief. "No," he said, definitively, looking back through the scope again.

"Oh, well, I must try harder, then."

_Yes, dearie, you must try—holy fuck_. Gold sucked in a sharp breath, as Belle slipped her leg over his, rubbing it slowly, suggestively up and down. Up and down. He swallowed, trying to focus despite his growing hardness, pressing into the hill.

Belle seemed to relish his stifled reaction, continuing her hellish ministrations.

Unable to take it any longer, lest he be unable to stand with any sort of decency, Gold pressed his finger and shot.

_**BANG!**_

Her body instantly stilled at the noise, and she leaned forward, nearly lying on top of him, as she grabbed his binoculars in front of him. "Seriously?" she scoffed, rolling off.

Gold knew instantly that he had hit it. How? He had no fucking clue. Quite possibly a miracle. His mind had gone blank the instant she had touched his leg; not that Belle seemed to mind.

"Best two out of three?"

"Ahh," he sighed, accepting her assistance to stand. "I think that may be it for the day for me. Can't over do it."

"Fine," she huffed, brushing the dirt off of her. "I'm still not letting you off the hook though—we're going to settle this eventually."

"I have no doubts. Tomorrow, perhaps?"

Belle grinned, nodding. "Tomorrow."

A surge of pleasure ran though him at that she would smile merely for the promise of spending more time with him. "I'll leave you to practice, then. I think you may need it."

"Those are fighting words, Gold."

He grinned, mostly to himself. "There is no one I would rather fight with more than you."

"You are so odd," she laughed, shaking her head. "Will you be back for dinner at least?"

"If you would like me to join you."

"What sort of question is that?"

_An honest one._ "I'll be back by dinner, then."

"All right. I'll be here…shooting holes in things."

...

Gold spent the rest of the day at the dock on his sailboat, busying himself with working on the files, as well as on the boat, as an excuse to stay away from the house, not wanting to impose himself on Belle. The long hours transcribing her sheets, though, were taking their toll, and he was exhausted, working non-stop ever since he left her side. When his eyes had tired him, Gold had switched to his time-honored task of working on his boat. The tedious work had always, without fail, helped him to forget, to lose himself, with every coil of the rope, or polish of the wood, however, this time, no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts would always come back to Belle, and the fact that she was depending on him, and he'd abandon the work in favor of transcribing the pages.

He shook his head, running his hand through his hair, as he took off his glasses, putting aside another sheet he'd finished transcribing. He'd only been able to finish a mere twenty pages—a total of three actual files—by the time the sun had begun to set on the horizon, despite his efforts. Reminding himself that he had also promised dinner with her, Gold tore himself from the pages, taking them with him, and drove back up the hill to the house.

He found her outside on the terrace, sitting in the very place he'd occupied in the morning, reading a book. Wolfgang was lying at her feet, protectively growling at the sound of the door opening. Gold glared at his traitorous dog, and then shut the door behind him.

Belle peeked around the large chair at the noise, and smiled lazily, stretching out with a yawn, as she watched him slowly approach. "I was wondering if you would ever come back."

"There was a promise of dinner."

"There was," she agreed, turning in her chair, and propping herself up on her side to face him. "How was your day?"

"Fine…somewhat productive. And yours?"

"Relaxing," she smiled again, stretching out her legs as proof. "Catching up on some reading."

"I see that you have a new companion."

"My little protector," she smiled, patting the large wolf on the head. "He'd kept me company all afternoon."

"Is he bothering you? Because I can—"

"Oh, no, no. He's a good ol' guy. Aren't you Wolfgang?" she said, continuing to rub the dog's ear. She stopped, looking around with a frown. "I don't know where the other ones ran off to, though. There were here a little while ago."

"Probably off finding something to destroy as punishment for keeping them locked in all morning."

Belle sat up, placing her book on the small table beside her. "So where have you been all day? Hiding in your secret lair, I presume?"

_If you only knew._ Gold smirked, tipping his head at her teasing. "Well, we villains must keep up appearances, you know."

"Of course. I never assumed, otherwise. I must say—you have perfected the secret island hideout here, quite nicely."

"Why thank you. That is was what drew me to purchase it, of course."

"Of course," she grinned, playing along. She tipped her head, examining him with a sigh. "But your look…I don't know. It's missing something. Maybe an eye patch?"

He coughed, shaking his head. "An eye patch?"

"Well, you can't be a true villain without an eye patch, or a shaved head, and we certainly can't have that."

"Have what?"

"You saving your head, of course. I like your hair," she admitted, with a smile. "So…you need an eye patch. You simply can't be a true villain without it."

"I'll see about getting one, then."

Belle giggled. "You do that."

Charmed, Gold walked around to inspect the large, black tome on the table. "Interesting choice of reading."

Belle turned, shrugging at the title—_The Art of War_. "I found it in the 'Inspirational Reading' section in your library."

"Ah, yes, about that," he said, suddenly remembering. "I have something for you." He held out the thin folder that he had forgotten he'd been holding in his hand.

"What is this?" She opened it, immediately looking up in surprise. "You translated all of this already?"

He waved her off, unnerved by her sheer excitement at the few pages. "It was no matter."

Belle shook her head, flipping through the pages. "You didn't have to do all of this so quickly."

"I assumed that you would want to start working on it as soon as possible."

"Well, I didn't know you were going to do it by hand. I could've helped. I feel bad for asking now."

"It's the least that I can do." She opened her mouth to protest, but he quickly stopped her with his hand. "I insist."

"Thank you," she said, gratefully. "Really."

He smiled, averting his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable with all of her praise. "No matter," he mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

Belle stood, grabbing her belongings. "Are you hungry at all?"

"I—"

"Because I made something, I mean, I figured with everything you've done for me, it's the least that I can do."

"How am I supposed to say 'no' to a meal made by you?"

She stood, half-laughing as she cringed. "Let's eat first, before you say that."

…

Despite her reservations, the meal was delicious—a stew of seasoned beef, potatoes, and some of the fresh vegetables he had picked up at the market; cooked perfectly, it was obviously made with care.

Even though he was on his second helping, he could feel Belle's distrusting gaze on him throughout the whole meal. Setting aside his spoon, he finally looked up. "Is something the matter?"

Belle blanched, immediately flustered. "What? No. I mean…is it all right? You can tell me the truth. I know it's not quite up to what you can do, but—"

"It's delicious," he finished, truly meaning it. His compliment made her beam, a slight blush rising to her cheeks.

"I made dessert, too," she added, with a smile. "Pavlova."

"I don't believe I've had that before."

Belle wasted no time in scurrying up from the table, and returning with a crisp, meringue cake, lightly browned, and covered with whipped cream and fresh fruit. She cut a generous slice with a smile, passing it over to him. "Now this—_this_ I can make. We used to have it all the time at home. It's an Aussie favorite."

Gold took a bite of the dessert, finding it quite delicious. "Are you from there, originally?"

"Australia? No, not exactly, but I lived down there for a long time. My father was stationed down in Alice Springs until I was seventeen. Thus, the accent," she gestured to her throat, with a shrug. "It sort of stuck."

"Aye, these things happen," he teased back, laying on his brogue as thick as he could, earning a sharp snort from Belle as she choked on her drink, trying to contain her laugh. "This is quite delicious."

"Thank you. It's been a while since I've made it, but I figured that since I had time…" she shrugged. "It was actually a lot of fun. I can't remember the last time that I had time to bake, or read for that matter. I've been gone for so long."

Gold took another bite. "They keep you in the field most of the time?"

"Mostly," she said, taking a bite of her own, and waving the fork around with flourish. "I've been home, two, maybe three, weeks out of this entire year. My neighbor wants to get my boss fired for overworking me."

"As she should," Gold winked.

Belle smiled. "You don't know this one. I'm fairly sure that Granny could take Mills out, given the opportunity. Or, at very least, talk her to death," she paused, chuckling at a memory. "Let's just say that I'm fairly sure that the editors at _Travel & Leisure_ have received many confusing, heated letters concerning my employment."

"That's your cover—a photo journalist?"

"Travel reporter," she corrected. "I didn't get the high-rent district job like you; although, now that you're out, I may have to make a move on it."

"By all means," Gold laughed, splaying his hands towards her.

Belle laughed in return, sighing as sipped from her wine glass. "There are days when I wish it was real though."

"The job?"

"Yeah," she sighed wistfully, taking another bite of the dessert.

"For the travel or...?"

"That, and not having to worry about who to shoot, or getting shot at, all the time. You know, actually be able to enjoy a place, without seeing an endless barrage of targets, and marks."

Gold nodded, understanding completely. "How _did _you manage to get into this line of work? Your file was quite an interesting read."

"I bet," she chuckled. "I don't know. Duty? Sacrifice? The opportunity to be a hero?" she shrugged. "I grew up around it, so it just seemed like the natural path. Plus, my shooting wasn't half bad," she teased, winking at him.

"Your father must be proud."

Her smile immediately dimmed, and she swallowed quickly, making Gold curse himself for bringing it up and distressing her. "Yes, he's very proud, or _was_," she whispered, biting her lip, before downing the glass of wine.

"He is," he said, confidently. He had never been in the General's presence, but all he knew was that if he had raised an extraordinary woman like Belle French, he would be have to be mad not to be proud of her.

"And you? Why did you join?"

"As I said, I had few choices. Heroism wasn't on my list of enticements, I must confess. It was simply a way out."

"Well, I've found that heroism is rather overrated while you're being shot at."

"And yet, you've saved my life three times so far, doing exactly that."

"I wasn't going to let you get killed just because I was being shot at!"

He tipped his glass to her, toasting her. "Spoken like a true hero."

Belle scoffed, brushing him off. "I'm not a hero—and you did the same for me, so I guess that makes us both—"

"Oblivious to danger?" he suggested, earning a loud laugh from Belle.

"Yes, _exactly_," she laughed, shoving her plate forward in defeat. "Ugh, I'm stuffed."

"It was a wonderful meal. Thank you."

"I glad you enjoyed it."

"How could I not, with such lovely company?" he said, grinning at her as he hid his face behind his glass of wine.

Belle looked up from her own glass, her eyes batting down as she blushed.

"I confess, that's it's been a while since someone has cooked for me, too," he softly continued. "It's quite a treat."

"Well, we must do it more often then."

"Indeed."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, each nursing their glasses of wine, and simply enjoying the warm summer evening.

"Your cut looks better."

Gold looked over, frowning in question.

Belle gestured to his forehead. He'd nearly forgotten about it.

"Ahh, yes," he said, gently prodding his cut, which had begun to heal. "And how are you feeling?" The deep, swollen bruise covering her eye still unnerved him, along with the many bruises he'd seen on her torso in the morning that still lingered in his mind; not to mention, whatever damage she'd inflicted upon herself during her impromptu marathon the day before.

"Sore," she admitted. "That run yesterday wasn't one of my brighter ideas." Pushing back her chair, Belle removed her shoes, revealing large, angry blisters and cuts covering both of her feet.

"Christ," he breathed, leaning forward to gently touch her feet.

"I know, I know," she said, tiredly. "Believe me, I knew last night that I'd officially screwed up."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No, but thank you." She gently put her shoes back on. "The swim helped though, just to get the aches out."

"Bloody Ranger to the end. Have you ever heard of rest?"

"Says the man running around with a battered knee, broken ribs, and two gunshot wounds to the head."

"_Fractured_ rib, m'dear. Let's not make it sound any worse than it is."

Belle laughed, pouring herself some more wine from the bottle. "We're quite the sad, battered pair, huh? After all my years in the service, and in the SOC, I don't think that I've ever been shot at, stabbed, chased, or nearly blown up, as many times as I have in this past week."

"Me neither. Clearly, we've been doing something wrong all these years."

"Clearly! " Belle laughed again, snorting once, which only made her laugh harder.

Her warm laugh was infectious, and Gold felt himself soon smiling, chuckling at her insatiable giggles.

Belle soon forced herself to calm, taking long, steadying breaths, her eyes glassy with tears from laughing. Finally calm, she looked at him, "What are we going to do?"

"About what, m'dear?"

"This," she said, gesturing to their wounds. "How are we going to attempt to face anyone, and have any sort of success, in this condition?"

"We could stay here…recover, plan, get healthy."

"Is it safe?"

Gold thought carefully, not wanting to flippantly assure her, because he knew she was depending on him to reply truthfully. "It's the safest place I know. If we're discovered, I have other places to hide, but know one knows of this place. I kept it separate from any transaction, or alias I ever used. The security system is state of the art; spared no expense."

"Then, we'll stay here," she said determinedly. "Are you all right with that?"

"It's what I was going to suggest. I wasn't sure if you would want to stay," he admitted easily.

Belle frowned. "Why not?"

Too many answers came easily to his mind, none of which he wanted to say aloud. He simply gave her a half-shrug, but seeing that she was waiting for an answer, he paused, thinking. "Because…I don't know. I just never thought…Trust has never been the best color in me. I suppose I never expected it in return…" he trailed off, uncomfortable. A warm hand soon covered his, gently squeezing it.

"I trust you, Aiden."

Their eyes held, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the truth in her eyes. A pang of fear and panic, strange and unwanted, shot through him, making him want to step away. He drew back his hand, suddenly uncomfortable with the contact. "If you don't mind, I'm going to excuse myself. My leg isn't feeling well, and I'm going to go lie down," he mumbled, stepping away from the table.

Belle stood in turn, her eyes full of worry. "Do you want me to look at it?"

"No," he smiled, backing away like a coward. "It'll be fine—just need to get off my feet. Good night, Belle. Thank you for a lovely meal."

"Are you sure? It's no trouble, really." She followed his retreat, narrowing her eyes in concern.

"It'll be fine. I'll see you in the morning. Good night."

"Good night," she whispered back, her face full of confusion as he turned and walked away.

…

That night, Gold slept alone, as he did for the rest of the week, with Belle keeping to her room next door. It hurt, more than he could admit, knowing that something had changed between them, that he had closed a door to whatever intimacy, however brief, had begun between them.

He knew that he should be grateful, that now he could truly focus on their plan without any distractions, but with each passing day, as they settled more and more into a vague semblance of a routine, he felt nothing but regret. He would lie awake at night and tell himself that this was for the best; Belle was young, beautiful, ambitious, and talented—everything he wasn't. She didn't deserve someone like him. She deserved a hero, not a coward in disguise.

By the third night, he had nearly convinced himself that he had made up everything in his head. How could he ever think that Belle would want someone like him? A condemned cripple, who had only brought her pain, and had destroyed her career in the process. It was a miracle that she would still want to be in his presence, let alone still smile at him.

It was this belief that quickly turned his regret to fear— the fear of doing something wrong that would make her uncomfortable, and then drive her away. After living out on the lam by himself for so long, he simply couldn't bear for her to leave his side, now that he had the experience of her companionship. So he lay low, trying not to upset the delicate balance they had achieved, as his cowardly instincts took root in him once again.

If Belle felt the same way, she didn't show it. She had the grace to at least pretend everything was fine, even though she had remained distant ever since that night. Every day, she would awaken at dawn—he would hear her door click open—to go swimming in the bay. He would then wait until she returned, so they could share breakfast before they went down to their make-shift firing range, which had since only acquired more targets, to engage in another round of spirited competition, which was still tied at 124-124.

Once that was over, or when someone finally conceded to suspend their contest until the next day, they parted their ways for the afternoon—Belle to go analyze Gold's translated pages, and Gold to his boat to continue his translation in private. At sundown, they would each return to the house to share a meal, and to talk over what they had each discovered. After they debriefed each other, and debated their various theories, the conversation would then drift to other topics, where they would continue their teasing banter that Gold loved so much. The conversation, however, remained strictly surface level, such as arguing over what the best movie was, or why purple shirts were perfectly acceptable on men, or what would be the most effective hit method.

Gold would prolong their meals with the skill of true master debater, not wanting their evening to end, and having to retire to this room alone; but after a week of trying, he could never finding the words to tell her so. If all he could have was a warm conversation and shared laugh over wine, then he would accept it, cherishing it, until their reunion the next morning.

Light footsteps on the wooden pier, snapped Gold out of his reminiscing, and he stood up on the deck, to see Belle, clad in his favorite blue dress of hers, walking towards him, with Wolfgang padding along at her side.

"So _this_ is where you disappear to all day," she called out, smiling, her hair waving in the light breeze.

Gold bowed, trying to appear casual, and not as dumbstruck as he felt that she had sought him out. "My humble lair."

"Permission to come aboard, Captain?"

"Of course," he said, motioning to the stairs on the back.

"Thank you," she said, lithely climbing aboard, holding her skirt as she did so. Wolfgang made the jump behind her. "I've been admiring it for so long, I didn't know you actually worked on it. Do you ever take it out?"

"Occasionally," he said, watching her skim her hand along the railing, and look up, admiringly, at the tall mast.

"Whenever you do, could you take me along one time? I mean…Gosh, I totally just invited myself, I meant—"

"Do you want to go out now?" he interrupted her, not able to deny her anything.

She raised her eyebrows. "Now?"

"Unless, you have something else to do. We can go another day, if—"

"Oh, no, no," she protested. "I actually came down here to say 'hi.' I've read enough about Russians for a lifetime. I figured that I would much rather come visit you. I'm not imposing on anything, am I?"

He shook his head, holding back a smile. "Not in the slightest."

Belle bit her lip, holding back a smile of her own. "Could we really take it out, then?"

"Give me five minutes to get her ready."

Belle giggled in excitement, gesturing animatedly with her hands. "Oh. Okay, then. Wow. I should've come down earlier—" she paused, looking back. "Wolfgang—will he be okay, or should he stay?"

"He'll be fine."

As if to prove his master correct, the large wolfhound walked down into the cabin below, assuming his favorite sleeping position on one of the couches in the large stateroom.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Nothing, right now, m'dear. Let me get us ready, and then we'll cast off in a moment. Could you help me with the ropes?"

Belle nodded, and walked to the front tether, as he quickly started the inboard motor to get them off the dock in good order.

The boat started up in good order, and Gold cast off the rear line. "Okay, you can untie us," he shouted out.

Belle did as asked immediately, and then walked back to him, assuming a position by him at the wheel. She sat in silence as she quietly observed him back the large vessel out of the harbor.

They quickly made their way out of the harbor, and Gold steered them west, out towards the Adriatic. "Here—could you steer?"

"Steer?" Belle asked, alarmed. "I don't know how."

"It's okay," he soothed her, stepping aside to let her stand at the wheel. "Take us wherever you want to go, I promise you won't hit anything," he teased, leaning close to her ear.

Belle gawked, but kept her focus, with her gaze fixed firmly forward, and her white knuckles gripping the wheel.

"Just imagine that it's a slow car," he offered, beginning to ready the sails on the main mast.

"Not the same thing!" she yelled back, her voice getting partially lost in the wind.

With most of the sails on this boat automated, it took Gold little time before they were ready to truly set sail, and he returned to the stern, where Belle was staring at him worriedly. "Enjoying yourself?"

"I didn't crash it—that's all I can say. It's all yours now," she said backing immediately away.

He ignored her, walking away, across the sitting area, and down into the cabin.

"Gold!"

"One minute, dearie." He laughed to himself, hearing her curse his name above, evoking memories of Rome. Wolfgang barely acknowledged him, as he rummaged through the cabin, returning with two reels.

"We're going to fish?" Belle asked, her face brightening.

"If you would like to," he said, excited that he did something that pleased her.

"I can't remember the last time I went," she said, smiling as she shrugged. "I used to go all the time when I was younger. Do you think we'll catch anything?"

"I don't know," he admitted, letting out one line. "We'll see." This part of the ocean was a prime game fishing locale, especially in the summer months. He hoped for his pride's sake that one of these damn fish would come bite, if only to bring another smile to her face. That was his currency now—her smiles. He swallowed, steadying himself, and turned back around to resume control of the wheel, which Belle eagerly gave away. "I thought that you liked driving?"

"Cars," she corrected, moving around the wheel to lie on the couch in front of him, propping her arm up on a pillow to look back at him. "Not this huge yacht!"

"Well, we'll have to go out more often then. Get you comfortable with it."

"I think that I'll leave the steering up to you. I'll be your first mate, how about that?"

"Yes," he nodded, feeling the warm feeling in his chest at her words. "I'd like that very much."

She smiled, stretching out on the large couch, and placed her head on her arm to watch him sail.

Gold simply smiled back at her, enjoying this peaceful quiet more than he could ever say. The winds were with them, pushing them through the small, lazy swells. A quiet flutter of the sails, amongst the little splashes of every wave made for a relaxing cruise, and he watched Belle's lids grow heavy, eventually closing.

They cruised out to the ocean, sailing for nearly an hour, with Gold at the wheel, and Belle sleeping to his side. She barely stirred the entire time, only to mumble incoherently and turn over, forcing Gold to fix her dress at one point, lest he have to jump into the cold ocean.

A large, rogue wave rocked the boat hard to the side, shifting Belle nearly off the couch, causing her to immediately wake, and Gold chuckled, watching her slowly become aware of her surroundings.

"Enjoy your nap?"

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry," she apologized, rubbing her eyes, as she stood to walk over by him. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I guess I'm fired from my first mate position, huh?"

"Of course not."

"So where are we?" Belle asked, settling against the rail beside him.

"About five miles out. Over there," he said, pointing to the southeast, "is Pirovac, where I went last week, and then in front of us is Zirje Island—another privately owned island. Are you familiar with Rijeka?" Belle nodded. "That's about ninety miles to the north of us. And if we decide to sail off into the sunset, we'll hit San Marino by tomorrow morning."

Belle looked back at the ocean behind them, her hair blowing wildly in the wind, and then turned back towards him, with a sly smile on her face. "Tempting."

"I'm at your command. Simply say the word, and I'll take you there."

"I think just a little cruise, and then back home, will suffice for today," she smiled, her eyes sparkling.

Her use of the word "home" did not go unnoticed by him, and he felt a pang in his chest. "Of course," he quietly replied, turning back to steer the boat.

"Your boat doesn't have a name!"

"What?" Gold turned around at her exclamation, seeing Belle bent over the rail, nearly off the back of the boat.

She righted herself, swinging her hair back in a wide arc. "How can your boat not have a name?"

"It would be hardly prudent to have a memorable name on one's boat, if the goal is to try and remain anonymous, wouldn't you agree?"

"Then name it 'Wind and Sea' or 'Ea-sea-going,' or something like that; something that no one would care about. Believe me, people notice if a boat is unnamed," she scoffed, raising her eyebrow. "Plus, it's downright unlucky."

"I don't believe in luck, dearie."

"Who doesn't believe in luck?"

"Me."

"Well, that's just silly," she teased, rolling her eyes. "How could you own a boat all this time, and not be at least aware of that superstition?"

"I suppose that I could never come up with a suitable name for it," he lied, feeling a deep pang in his chest once again, sharper and different from before, yet familiar from years of feeling it. Gold turned, hiding his face, as he fiddled with the wheel. He couldn't talk about that with her—not yet.

"Hmm…well, we'll have to come up with one then," Belle continued. "How about 'The Pequod'?"

"What?"

"'Hispaniola'? Oh, no, no, no…how about the 'Nautilus'?'"

Gold chuckled at her enthusiasm, shaking his head. "Where are you coming up with these names?"

Belle's face fell. "Seriously? _Moby Dick. Treasure Island_…_Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_? Please tell me that you've at least _heard_ of _Moby Dick_."

"'fraid not," he replied flatly, eager to tease her.

Belle huffed in indignation, shaking her head. "First thing, once this is over, I am taking you to a bookstore, and I am going to buy you those books. Hell, I'll read them to you, if need be. I mean…how about _The Spy Who Came In From the Cold,_ at least?"

_The classic le Carré novel?_ "Not that I can recall," he dryly replied, shaking his head.

"Argh—classic spy novel! How have you not read any of these, you poor, deprived man?" She sighed dramatically, patting his arm with a patronizing smile. "It's okay. I'm here to help."

"I would trust no one else to enlighten me," he smirked back. Really, the promise of Belle reading him a book was enticement enough to deny hearing of any novel.

She smirked in triumph, but then narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips. "We still need to come up with a name for your boat."

"I'll leave that in your capable hands."

"No, I can't name your boat—you have to do it. I mean, that would be so—"

_**Screech!**_

Belle jumped, pressing her body against his, as her hands instinctively went to her hip for her gun. "What the—"

Gold quickly moved around her, towards the shrieking reel. "Fish on," he announced.

Belle was instantly at his side. "Wha…what do I do? What do you want me to do?"

He was already ready for her, reeling it in, feeling a large fish on the end. "Come here," he calmly instructed. "Keep this in here, and keep reeling it in. If you feel slack, keep reeling."

"Gold! Don't leave me!"

"I'll be right back, I need to stop the boat and get this other line in. Keep reeling," he urged, quickly reeling in the line on the opposite side of hers.

"Oh, shit," she cursed, continuing to reel it in beside him. "Gold!"

"You're doing fine, dearie."

The line took off again, causing Belle to curse again. "Gold! Help me!"

He was already on his way back, after lowering some of his sails to slow the boat. He went around to stand directly behind her. "You're doing great. Keep reeling it in."

The fish—a mahi-mahi—took the opportunity to leap out of the air.

Belle screamed, in a startled laugh. "Holy shit!"

"Keep reeling," he encouraged, placing a hand on the small of her back, laughing too at her reaction.

"Okay," she said, unsure. The pole jerked again, the line going out. "Shit. Oh, no you don't, you're_ not _getting away. Get back here," she yelled, gritting her teeth.

Gold only laughed harder at her commentary, and left her side for a moment to quickly grab the gaff on the side.

Belle continued to curse, and grunt, as she reeled the fish in. Once in view of the boat, Gold stopped her, grabbing the leader.

"That's good; hold it there, Belle."

Belle held the reel obediently in place, as he pulled the line along the boat, gaffing the fish on his first aim—being skilled with a cane wasn't completely useless—and pulled the fish onto the boat.

"Oh, my god! I caught a fish!" she excitedly exclaimed.

"Give me that towel," he asked, urgently. The bright yellow and blue fish struggled underneath him, and it took everything in his power to hold it down. The loud noises had attracted Wolfgang too, who stood off to the side growling.

Belle took off for towel, stuffed in a compartment by the wheel. "Here you go," she said, handing it to him, which he placed over the fish's eyes, immediately stilling it.

"I need my knife."

"Seriously?"

He nodded back to her. As if he would joke around, trying to hold down a forty-pound fish.

"Geez, it always comes back to that damn knife of—"

"And that large, white bag down below too. It's behind the table."

Belle quickly returned with the fish bag and his knife. With practiced skill, he quickly put the fish down, and placed it in the fish bag, placing it in the refrigerated compartment alongside the deck. He looked up, pressing himself up off the deck. Belle was wide-eyed with excitement. "I caught a fish!"

"You did," he replied, smiling at her

She barked a laugh, covering her mouth. "Oh my god, I caught a fish! I can't believe—thank you!"

Before he could react, her arms were around his neck and she was hugging him in a tight embrace. Belle stepped back, smiling, but then yelped as a swell suddenly pushed her off balance, sending her sprawling backwards towards the steps. Gold jumped forward, catching her around her shoulders, and pulling her back, preventing her fall.

Belle gasped, startled, but then relaxed in his arms, once she realized that he had her.

Gold could only look down at her, his own heart pounding in his chest, as he looked at her bright blue eyes, sparkling in the sun. He was immediately aware of the proximity of his face to hers, feeling her warm breath on his face, and body pressed securely against his. The moment seemed to last forever, but he couldn't draw himself away. His eyes darted below, her lips so temptingly close, but he couldn't move; his body was betraying him, keeping him frozen in place.

"Ah…thank you."

He shook himself, her words breaking him of the spell he was under, and he quickly released her, his hands splaying out in reaction, ready to steady her again if need be.

"Thank you," she breathed, stepping away herself, fixing her dress.

"It's no matter," he waved her off, grabbing his cane off the floor and walking over to once again taked control of the wheel, trying to settle his nerves by running his fingers up and down the wheel.

Belle seemed to share no such concern, and followed, placing herself in front of him, instead of resuming her place on the couch. He looked over in question, but she simply smiled, and lightly leaned into back him, sending his pulse racing.

"Wha…what are you doing?"

"You said that you were going to teach me how to steer…I figure that this is a good time to teach me," she quietly replied, smiling all the while.

He gulped. "Of course."

"Plus," she continued, grabbing his hands and placing them on her hips, "the sea looks rough. You won't let me fall will you?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

"Never."

She beamed, "Okay, then. Teach me how to steer this beast."

The wheel was his only grip on reality, as he tried to will his nerves to still, trying to remind himself of what he had decided earlier in the week. However, Belle's continued smiles and touches for the duration of the ride home did him no favors, his resolve and rationale being chipped away with each passing minute.

It wasn't until they finally arrived home, and he helped Belle off the boat, that he felt his nerves finally relax, and he was able to steady himself again. _You have to protect her, you can't hurt her_, he reminded himself, following her down the dock, his hands clenching at his sides.

…

"We need to do that again," Belle announced, placing their dishes in the sink with a clatter. "I had so much fun today."

Gold limped over to the counter, with their glasses, and stood behind her to help with their familiar routine of washing the dishes.

"No, no. You cooked—I clean. That's the deal. Shoo!" she teased, motioning him away from her side.

He sat obediently down on a stool, on the opposite of the counter, to watch her wash their few dishes. "I agree," he said, remembering her earlier request. "Let me know, and I'll take you out whenever you want."

Belle looked up with a smile, and then tipped her head, focusing her eyes intently on him, seemingly sizing him up.

Unnerved, he frowned. "What?"

"You're rather charming, when you want to be. You know that?"

Gold blinked, not sure if he heard correctly. "I'm anything, but charming, m'dear."

"Hmm," she smirked, leaning forward over the counter. "Making dinner, taking girls out for boat rides? That sounds pretty charming to me."

He scoffed, dismissing her words. "That's not…I'm not…you don't know me," he finally said, trying to find the appropriate words.

"I know," she said quietly, looking directly into his eyes. "But, maybe I want to."

Gold gulped at her tone, startled by the direction the conversation was suddenly turning, which left no room for interpretation. "I'm not the sort of person you should want to know more of."

"And why's that?"

He looked away, fidgeting with his cane, as he tried to come up with the words.

"Hmm?"

He closed his eyes, steeling himself, and sighed. "Because I'm not a good man." Belle's silence drew his eyes upward; she had stopped washing the dishes and was sadly smiling at him. He felt frozen, as she walked around the kitchen island and stood in front of him, gently placing her one of her hands on his shoulder.

"Don't say that," she softly whispered, gently running her hand through his hair, stopping to caress his face. "I think you're a very, good man," she whispered again, leaning closer.

_I'm not—_ Before Gold could react, her lips were on his, gently pressing against his. They were just as petal soft as he remembered from their first, brief kiss. He sighed, feeling her tongue swipe along his lower lip, and he tilted his head, allowing her access to deepen the kiss, as she threaded her fingers in his hair. He tentatively met her tongue with his own, tasting the faint hint of the wine they had just drunk.

She drew back for a moment, only to lean back to kiss him again, before he could miss the loss of contact. His hands drew up to trace the side of her face, as she eased forward, gripping his shoulder with her other hand as she sighed into his mouth.

Her sigh broke his spell for a brief moment; it was a mere second, but it was long enough to allow all of his reservations over his feelings for her to come rushing back, and he stood up, pulling sharply away from her embrace, knocking over the stool in the process.

Belle flinched in shock, her skin flushed, and eyes wide in shock, as she stood frozen in place. She looked like he had slapped her, and he hated himself for it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"We can't do this," he said, his voice shaky and unsure.

"What?"

"We can't do this," he repeated, sterner.

Belle took a tentative step forward, searching his face, with concern in her eyes. "I don't understand. What's wrong? You don't want this?"

"I'm…this can't work," he turned to leave. He couldn't face her.

"Aiden!" she yelled, rushing forward to block his path. "What is going on?"

His mouth opened, grasping for words to explain; Christ, he was _trying_ to do the right thing here by protecting her from himself and she wouldn't let him. He stepped away, trying to get around her, but she moved in turn, blocking his path. "What do you want from me, French?" he growled, angry that she wouldn't just let him leave.

Belle flinched, but held her ground, ever the brave one. "I want…" she shrugged helplessly, "I want you."

Her words knocked the air clear out of his chest. He'd hoped, prayed, that she could want him, but now she had uttered the words, it made it all the more painful to step away, knowing that it was the only way to truly protect her. "No, you don't," he breathed, forcing the painful words from his lips. "You don't want a man like me."

"How do you know that?" she stated, clearly affronted that he would assume anything about her. "And what's wrong with a man like you? Because I think that you're a rather good one, quite frankly."

"You're mistaken, I'm anything but," he snapped. "And you shouldn't pretend otherwise."

"Oh really?" she challenged, her anger rising to match his. "So you just brought me here to your home, after saving my life, and then kept me from falling apart at the seams, because, why? To show me how you're such a horrible man? Because if that's what you were trying to prove, you've done a real bang-up job at it."

"It's not my fault that you're unable to see what's right in front of you. That's your problem, French. That's your weakness. You see the good in everything. You trust everyone. Well, guess what? I'm not your savior. I'm not some white knight from one of your stories that came to rescue you. And if that's what you believe, then you are sorely mistaken, because dearie, I'm the farthest thing from it."

"That's not what I said."

"But it's what you meant, isn't it?" he growled, stalking towards her until he was inches from her face. "I'm _not _a good man. I'm an outcast, a recluse, a killer. Everything around me gets ruined. Everyone around me _dies_, French. Does that sound like a good man to you? _Does it?" _he yelled, his chest heaving.

"No."

Gold nodded, victorious in his argument, but Belle held her ground, looking at him sadly.

"No, it sounds like a person who's been hurt and that has lost someone. And I'm sorry; I'm sorry that you've been so hurt in your life that you can't see—can't believe that I can see what I can—a good man."

"Don't presume you know me—"

"I didn't. I don't. I only want to know you better. That's all," she whispered, pausing, and walking forward until they were nearly touching.

"You shouldn't."

"But I do," she pleaded, slowly reaching for him.

He stilled, taking a sharp intake of breath as she touched his chest.

"Aiden, why won't you trust me? What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm _not_ afraid, French," he spat, stepping away from her and feeling the surge of anger spike through him, her words hitting a sharp nerve.

"Then why can't you believe me when I tell you that I want you?" she pleaded, following him.

He stopped his hasty retreat, her words bringing him up short, lancing through his chest. "Because you can't."

"Can't what?" she whispered back.

"Want me," he admitted, closing his eyes, the words escaping from his lips. A warm hand caressed the side of his face, and he leaned into the contact, releasing a shuddering breath.

Belle drew his head down, until he finally opened his eyes to look down at her. He saw nothing but warm acceptance in her eyes, as she gently held her hand in place, holding his gaze. "Do you trust me?"

Years of distrust, betrayal, and deceit seeped through his veins, screaming at him to deny what he felt, but with one look into her warm, blue eyes, he felt his resolve break into a thousand pieces. "I want to."

She pulled back, forcing him to look at her tear-filled eyes. "That's enough for now," she breathed, her voice cracking, reaching forward to press her lips against his.

Gold couldn't hold back any longer; Belle's words, voice, and ungodly soft lips pressing against his, drove him over the precipice, and he dropped his cane, clutching at her like his life depended on it, his fingers weaving into her hair, pulling her lips closer to his.

Belle whimpered as he kissed her fiercely, over and over again, exploring and memorizing her mouth as he guided them backwards, until her back was against the wall, so he could steady himself against it, lest he fall down from his knees buckling. She pulled slightly away, and he froze, panting hard, bracing himself for the rejection he knew was coming, as he forced his eyes open. Instead, Belle simply gazed up at him, her eyes impossibly dark, and blue, and gave him a nervous smile.

_Gods, he had never seen anything so beautiful._ He was left at a loss of words, as he stared down at her, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. "Belle…" he breathed, failing to find the words.

It seemed to be the right thing to say, as she smiled wider, reaching for him again, as she anchored her arms around the back of his neck, kissing him again, pressing herself against him.

Gold groaned, his erection straining against his pants, and pressing against her belly, causing him to shudder as he felt her brush up against him again. Unable to take the sensation any longer, he pulled back, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"Aiden," she groaned, moving her kisses downward, along his neck, as she clung to him behind his neck.

Her breathy voice made his control slip some more, causing his body to nearly shake with need, and he gulped. "I need you," he panted, breaking away from her kisses to turn his own head to capture her lips, neck, every bit of her, in ungraceful, open-mouthed kisses, needing to get more of her.

Belle gasped, arching her back to allow him better access as he continued kissing her. Unable to get enough, he sucked on her, lightly scraping his teeth as he did so, committing every sensation, every gasp of hers, to memory, as he tentatively brought his hand up, softly caressing her breast. "Please, Belle," he pleaded.

She pulled away from him in response, rising up to capture his lips one more time, and then, threaded her fingers through his, stepping away, and giving him a slight pull.

He looked at her in question, but she only smiled, knowingly this time, as she led him towards the stairs, pausing for a second to lean down, and pick up his discarded cane. Gold was dumbstruck, literally putty in her hands, as he allowed her to guide him, in disbelief with where he suspected she was taking him, but not trusting himself to say or do anything in case it would make her stop. He had already fucked up too many things between them; he couldn't mess up this. _Especially_, not this.

"Is this okay? Do you want to?" Belle asked, pausing at the foot of the stairs.

His eyes widened in disbelief at the question, and his mouth dropped. "God, yes—"

She cut him off with a kiss, and he could feel the vibration of her chuckles. "Good," she whispered, pulling back, and kissing him again. "Because I want you so much, I'd have you right here on the stairs, but I think that the bed is a better option if we want to be able to walk tomorrow."

Gold groaned, his body literally aching with need at her words. "You're trying to kill me, love," he groaned, earning a throaty chuckle from Belle, as she squeezed his hand, giving him a gentle tug up the stairs.

Never had twenty steps been so tortuous to climb. Gold followed, hating how his damn leg was slowing him down, but then Belle would pause, and give him a blushing smile over her shoulder, and all his cares would melt away.

Once they reached the top floor, Gold paused, it all hitting him at once that this was happening, really happening, and he pulled Belle back to him with his shaky hand. He needed her to be sure. His heart was in his throat, as he stroked her face, gently placing a lock of her hair behind her ear. She was so beautiful.

"Aiden?"

"Are you sure you want this? Because say the word. Say the word, and I'll stop."

She reached for him in turn, cupping his face with her hand. "Why would I do that?"

"I don't…" he paused, closing his eyes, gulping. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

He gazed into her eyes, shaking with a dangerous combination of fear and lust; he couldn't lose her.

"I trust you, Aiden," she said, her voice full of steady confidence. "You're not going to hurt me. That is, unless that's that damn knife of yours I'm feeling in your pocket, and then we might have a problem."

Gold barked out a laugh, feeling the tension leave his body, as he shook his head at her unexpected humor.

Belle chuckled in return, her face lighting up with a smile, as she raised a knowing eyebrow at him. "Just making sure," she said, warmly pulling him into another kiss, framing her hands with hers; her clever tongue mating with his, torturously slow. It felt utterly decadent, kissing her like this, savoring every bit of her.

He wasn't going to last long if she kept this up; it had been too long, and he was far too ready for this, so he pulled away, leading her towards his door.

The bright moon lit their path to the room, and Gold tossed his cane in the corner, as they staggered backwards into the room, hitting the corner of one of the chairs, causing Belle to curse and laugh as she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.

Gold, himself, could barely still his hands enough to manage the sparse buttons on the front of her dress. He finally undid his first, as Belle finished his last one, her deft fingers pulling off his long-sleeved shirt over his shoulders, and down his arms, impatiently. He helped her with the process, briefly abandoning his own fruitless task, and shrugged off the shirt.

She was already working on his belt, her hands precariously close to rubbing against him and causing him to lose all control, so he lowered his hands, grabbing hers softly, stilling her.

"I want to do this right," he breathed, gulping, trusting her to understand. She agreed with a kiss, and he led them towards the bed, trying his best not to limp.

Belle flicked on the lamp beside the bed, and looked back up at him with half-lidded eyes and a shy smile, as she traced his face. "I want to see you."

Even though he had no idea why a woman this beautiful would want to see _him_, Gold nodded in reply, leaning in to kiss her, slowly and carefully, trying his best to please her. He knew that he had one shot at this, one shot to get this right, and he wasn't going to waste it by coming too fast or too early. It had been too long, far too long, since he did this, and he couldn't embarrass himself like that—not with Belle. Belle deserved to be worshiped.

These buttons, though—they were going to be a problem, as he tried in vain to undo them, while kissing her, their tongues dueling. Finally, Belle broke away, and in one fell swoop, pulled the dress clear off.

"They're decorative," she explained breathlessly, as she discarded the dress on the floor, moving in to kiss him again.

Gold, though, was completely overwhelmed; pulling back to stare at her perfect, porcelain, white skin in front of him, and her…dear God, perfect breasts, framed in a lace bra. Christ, he wasn't going to last a minute. She was...she was… _Where on Earth had she got that? Had he bought that? _

"Aiden?"

He tore his gaze upwards, looking at her warm blue eyes, smiling at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't, flicking his gaze downwards again.

Belle stepped forward, smiling, and ran her hands up his chest, hooking them behind his neck, as she pulled herself against him. "I never said thank you for this."

"Wha…what?"

"My presents."

He was already painfully hard, and her teasing wasn't making it any better. "You're so beautiful," he breathed. It was the only thing he could say; it was the only clear thought that he had. He was already struggling to stay in control and utter any sort of sound other than a grunt or a groan.

She laughed, a breathy, shaky, little sound, which he decided, in that moment, was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. "Thank you," she whispered back. Maintaining their gaze, Belle slinked back, falling backwards onto the bed, and pushed herself backwards towards the headboard.

Gold followed, ignoring the pain in his knee, as he crawled across the bed, bracing himself on his good side, as he traced her body with his fingers, caressing and memorizing every curve—from the plane of her muscled stomach to the curve of her breasts. "So beautiful," he murmured, lowering himself to explore her body with his mouth, tasting the faint hint of the sea salt on her skin, taking his time to kiss every bruise, every cut that had been inflicted on her. "You're so beautiful."

Belle gasped as he reached her breasts, arching her back, and shuddering. He continued, kissing and sucking on her nipple though the silky, lace of her bra, as he caressed her other breast with his other hand, kneading it harder, then softer, paying attention to her little whimpers and cries, as she ran her hands through his hair, and then down his back.

His cock throbbed, as he continued his ministrations, and he pressed himself against the mattress, needing some pressure against himself for relief, as he struggled to maintain his control.

"Wait," Belle gasped, pushing herself off the bed. Gold froze, pulling back, afraid that he did something wrong, or that she had finally come to her senses; but before he could do anything, Belle unclasped her bra and threw it across the room, pulling her panties off too, leaving her completely bare in front of him. "Much better," she sighed, stretching out in front of him, and pulling his face down for another kiss.

Gold gawked, gazing down at her nude form underneath him. His hands wandered, running over the smooth flesh, as his mouth plundered hers, caressing her bare breasts, feeling her nipples harden to his touch. It was almost too much to bear, feeling his skin against hers, rubbing up against her.

He continued his downward exploration, pausing at the small, soft thatch of hair on her mound. Belle pulled away, gasping, as he tentatively slid a finger between her folds, finding her dripping wet for him. Gold sucked in a breath, steadying himself as his he felt his cock throb harder, knowing that he had done this to her. Proof that she wanted him, truly wanted him.

Emboldened, he kissed her one last time on the lips, before continuing down her neck, and then down her chest, pushing himself down lower on the bed to settle between her legs, as he continued to kissed the plane of stomach, and then, down lower. He paused, looking up, making sure she was okay with this.

She frantically nodded, her chest panting, and eyes dark with lust, as she watched him, finally throwing her head back into the pillows as he placed his first, light kiss on her inner thigh.

"Oh, God," she whimpered, grasping the sheets in one hand, and his hair in the other.

He smirked to himself, kissing her again, sucking on the impossibly, soft flesh of her inner thighs, as he rubbed her sides, in long, tender strokes, groaning to himself as he smelled the sweet, musky smell of her arousal.

Belle's hand clenched in his hair, as he moved his mouth to the center, placing a tentative kiss on the mound above her folds, flicking his tongue out to take a tentative taste. _Fuck,_ he groaned, tasting her again; she was luxurious, decadent, and so wet for him.

"Please," Belle pleaded desperately above him, her fingers clenching the sheets beside him, and he moved lower, finding her little bud of nerves, and flicking it with his tongue. "Oh, my God," Belle gasped, digging her fingers into his scalp in reflex, her hips bucking towards him.

Gold repeated the motion, flicking, circling, and licking every bit of her, moving lower at her direction when it became too much, and then returning his attentions back to her clit. He could tell she was close; she was shaking, her hips jerking with every movement of his tongue. Taking the opportunity, he thrust two fingers into her slowly, not wanting to hurt her, groaning himself at the hot, velvety sensation of feeling inside her.

Belle immediately cried out at the contact, arching her back high off the bed, and he withdrew, only to plunge them back in again, as he continued to lightly flick her clit with his tongue.

"Aiden!" she cried, grasping for him, as she came, her walls clenching around his fingers in strong waves, as her body shook head to toe, arching against him. He had never seen a more erotic sight, nearly coming himself at the sight of her undoing, knowing he did this to her.

He moved upwards, bracing himself on his elbow; as he lowered down to kiss her, needing to be close to her again. Belle could barely respond, panting and out of breath, as he continued to kiss her down her throat, sucking on her pulse point, which was beating rapidly. He gently nipped her skin, eliciting another cry, and he moved back up, covering his mouth with his.

Belle pulled back, her eyes half-lidded, and smiled, her chest flushed and heaving in pleasure. "You're amazing," she gasped, through shuddering breaths.

Gold laughed helplessly, gazing down at her in awe.

"I want you," she whimpered, "please."

He needed no more encouragement than that, and shifted back, fumbling with his belt. His hands were shaking too much to even attempt to unbuckle the simple clasp, but his hands were soon joined by two smaller ones, as Belle leaned forward in turn, placing a kiss on his mouth, before she directed her gaze downwards, tearing the belt from its loops, and continuing on to the zipper.

Once free, he kicked the pants away, gasping as Belle gently caressed him through his silk boxers. His cock twitched at the contact; it was all becoming too much, and he was much too close, so he met her mouth with his own, while trying to still her overeager hands, but with three tugs on the waistband, she had him freed, so he kicked those off as well.

His damned knee was the only thing allowing him to keep it somewhat together; the throbbing pain radiating from the joint, offset his other throbbing need, demanding to bury himself in her. The brief moment of clarity the pain brought him, reminded him of their need to protect themselves, and he crawled forward, towards the nightstand.

"Aiden?"

"Condom," he explained, throwing up a prayer that one had miraculously appeared in the drawer, knowing that there had never been any need before, but before he could reach it, Belle pulled him back into her arms.

She shook her head. "No need," she breathlessly replied, pulling him down for a kiss. "Implant."

He had no idea what the hell an implant was, but in that moment, he wanted to personally give the inventor of it all the money he possessed.

"Please," she whispered again, between kisses, "I want you inside me."

Shuddering, he lowered himself between her legs, taking himself in hand, pausing at her entrance.

Belle swallowed, lying back, arching towards him. "Please, Aiden."

Gold could hold back no more, especially not with her arms beckoning him closer. He slowly guided his head towards her opening, placing just the tip in, his body going rigid at the sensation of her wet, hot, folds, and then pushed inwards.

He watched her face, their eyes fixed on each other, as he entered her, seeing a flicker of pain as he pressed forward, and immediately stopped.

"No, no, no. It's okay. It's just been awhile," Belle breathlessly explained, hitching her hips higher, and pulling him closer with her strong legs.

"Oh, fuck," he cried out, as she pulled him fully inside her, sheathing him completely in her tight walls. He stilled, hiding his face against the curve of her neck as he panted, trying to calm himself enough to proceed.

Belle turned her head, pressing a kiss to his temple, as she breathed hard in his ear, running her hands up and down his sides.

He slowly withdrew, rocking against her again, causing both of them to gasp at the sensation. Belle's nails raked across his back as he thrust into her again, sending shivers of pain and pleasure through him. Her legs hitched even higher, wrapping around him, allowing him to push even deeper, using his good leg as leverage.

"Yes," she sighed, meeting his thrust with her hips, the angle making the breath catch in his throat. "Yes. God, you feel so good," she gasped.

Her voice almost did him in right then and there. "Belle," he groaned, thrusting harder against her, leaning down to capture her lips in a breathless kiss. "Oh, my beautiful, Belle."

"Aiden," she sighed in return, pulling herself up to kiss him again, her tongue tracing the roof of his mouth, causing him to moan at the contact.

His long, deep strokes soon quickened, as he felt himself being pulled towards the brink, driving him to thrust harder, bury himself further in her; he couldn't be close enough to her, peppering her throat with wet, needy kisses.

He could feel himself coming close, and quickly snaked a hand between their bodies, needing for her to come before him. The contact made her cry out, and arch underneath him, pressing her breasts against his chest. A moment later, Belle's walls clenched around his shaft and she cried out, screaming his name.

Gold thrust, harder and harder, clinging to her, until he finally followed Belle over the edge, coming hard, and crying out as the waves of pleasure overtook him. His arms gave out and he collapsed on top of her, feeling lifeless, as he burrowed his head in the nook of her shoulder, panting.

Belle stroked his hair, as he lay there, placing soft kisses across his brow.

He couldn't tell how long, but finally, the haze cleared, and he had half a mind to roll off of her, pulling her towards him, so he cradled her in his arms. He never wanted to let her go.

Belle raised his hand, which was clutching hers, and pressed a kiss to it, before pulling away from him.

"Please stay," he whispered, pained by the loss of her in his arms.

Belle shifted to her opposite side, turning back around towards him, and pressed a kiss to his lips, as she settled against him. "Of course," she sighed contently. "I was just getting off of my arm," she explained, shifting closer to him, draping her leg and arm over his.

Gold nearly sighed in relief, closing his eyes, and pulling her closer. He needed her close, he couldn't have her leave his side again. He felt himself drifting away on a cloud of bliss; he didn't know that he could ever be this happy, this at peace, with Belle safe in his arms.

She settled in further, gently pressing him on his back, and nuzzled her head against him, sighing. "I missed this…missed you," she whispered, pressing another kiss to his chest.

"What?" he asked, craning his head up to see her face.

Belle didn't answer; instead she drew nonsensical patterns on his chest with the palm of her hand. "I thought…when you…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "I thought that you didn't want me near you…didn't want me…so I stayed away."

His heart clenched at her words, and he shook his head. "Oh, Belle, no. I'm so sorry. I never meant …God, I've wanted you for so long. I never meant to hurt you. I just want to protect you."

"Shh…" Belle pushed herself up on her elbow, looking at him for a long moment, holding his gaze, before she leaned down, kissing him, soft and slow, finally pulling away to resume her place at his side. "You do. You do protect me," she whispered back.

Gold only held her closer, hoping that she was right.

They continued to lie together in silence, and Gold felt himself drifting away again, before he heard Belle lightly snicker under her breath.

"What?" he asked, his voice gravely and low.

"Hmm?"

"You're laughing."

"Oh…nothing. I was just thinking…"

"And?"

She shook her head, hiding her face in the nook of his neck. "Never mind, it's…never mind."

Intrigued, he shifted, trying to see her.

Belle looked up, "It's nothing, I swear—stupid. Just something that I remembered."

"I'm all ears," he murmured, taking the opportunity to kiss her again; now that he could, he didn't know if he would be ever able to stop.

She giggled, pulling away. "I was just thinking of something you said in Antigua."

He raised a brow, now definitely intrigued about what she was thinking about, even more so now because it was about him.

"Remember when you said that you wanted me to join you for your favorite way to wake up? Well, all I could think was that you're finally going to get lucky," she laughed, blushing up at him, as she waved her hand away. "See I told you, it was stupi—"

Gold silenced her with a kiss, leaning over to cover her body with his, deepening the kiss as he raised himself up on his elbow to cradle her face with his hand. He pulled away to look down at her, and just revel that she was here, with him. "I never thought that I could be so lucky," he whispered. And kissed her again.

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**AN: Sorry for the delay, but hopefully you enjoyed the chapter. It turned out to be a really busy week, plus I wrote some more after I posted the first chapter.  
**

**Thanks again to everyone who reviewed the last chapter – you're all so awesome! They really bring a smile to my day. Hope you all have a nice week!**

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**Update 9-11: Just wanted to put a little note in here and say that I'm nearly finished with the next chapter for those that were asking. Hopefully, I'll get it up by Saturday. It's another long one - 15,000 words. Sorry for keeping you waiting. Real life is keeping me crazy busy lately.  
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	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Hi, everyone! I'm sorry to keep you waiting for so long for this chapter. Also, thank you and welcome to new readers. It has been so great to hear how you've discovered the story and enjoyed it.**

**Really, all of your comments have seriously blown me away, so thank you, thank you!**

**Oh, and sorry, but this chapter ended up being rather long, so you might want to go grab a drink, or a snack, before you start. You might need it :) Hope you enjoy this next part and have a wonderful weekend!**

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"G'morning, love."

Belle hummed with pleasure as Gold pressed a soft kiss to the back of her neck, pulling her flush against him. She tried to turn and face him, but he only pulled her tighter. "Good morning," she chuckled, trying to move again, only to find herself caught in his strong arms. "Have you captured me?"

"Mm hmm."

"And are you going to let me go?"

"Never," he whispered back, moving his hand to gently knead her breast, while he continued to press soft kisses on her skin, moving from the side of her neck up, until he captured her lips in a long, slow kiss.

Belle looked back up at him with a smile. "Oh, no, all alone and captured by this dangerous man…whatever am I going to do?"

Gold snickered and rolled over, bringing her on top of him, as he kissed her. He was already hard when she had woken up, but now, she could feel his length straining against her belly, as she rubbed herself against him. Her own throbbing ache had been building for a while, as she waited patiently in his arms for him to wake.

Emboldened and not wanting to wait any longer, she sat up and straddled him, taking him within her in one smooth motion, causing Gold to groan loudly, and his eyes to nearly roll back in his head, as he firmly grasped her hips. "I suppose, I could try and plead for my release," she said, undulating her hips slowly, while she lightly raked her nails along his chest. "Or, perhaps, I could make you beg for yours, instead."

"Wicked woman," he gasped, as she moved her hips again, slowly rocking forward and backward.

Belle laughed happily at the sharp intake of breath the small motion drew from him. "The worst," she agreed, leaning back on her hands, as she arched her back, stretching out before him as she began to rock against him.

Gold's hands roamed everywhere, allowing her to set the pace as he explored her body, caressing her and making her feel like a goddess as she closed her eyes, savoring the sensations he was causing.

_God, he felt so good inside her._ A loud hum of approval made Belle glance back at Gold. His smug expression made her blush, realizing that she had spoken aloud.

"So do you, love," he said, leaning up to give her another kiss.

She leaned back once again, enjoying the slow, easy pace, just the utter bliss of the moment. She still couldn't believe they had waited so long to do this. Even after three weeks of this, she still couldn't have enough of him—hard and rough, or sweet and slow—her need to have him was becoming insatiable.

As if reading her mind, Gold's hand wandered between to where they were joined, and expertly found her small bud of nerves, deliciously rubbing it, causing a spike of pleasure to jolt through her. "Aidan," she gasped.

Encouraged, Gold continued his ministrations, bringing her closer and closer to her peak. It soon became intense enough that she allowed him to take over thrusting, as she went along for the ride, overwhelmed by the sensations.

She only lasted a few seconds longer, and came hard around him, her walls rhythmically clenching around him, causing Gold to let out a loud groan himself. Opening her eyes, she smiled, looking down into Gold's dark, hazel eyes. She would never get used to this—how he looked at her. In fact, she had never had anyone look upon her with such wonder and devotion that it was nearly overwhelming, and she had to nearly look away from the sheer intensity of it.

Unable to resist another moment of his lips not on hers, Belle leaned forward, pressing her body into his, and captured his lips in a fierce kiss, with their tongues battling for dominance.

Gold soon gained control of the kiss, and rolled her underneath him, causing Belle to yelp in surprise at the quickness of his movement. "What was that you said about begging?"

Belle laughed breathlessly at his teasing; unable to respond, she hiked her hips as high as she could, and wrapped her legs tightly around him, as he lifted himself on his arms above her, allowing him to thrust deep into her, filling her to the hilt with every stroke.

It still wasn't enough. "Wait," she panted. Gold frowned, pausing, but then followed her lead pulling out to allow her to lift her legs over his shoulders, resting her calves on his shoulders.

He let out a sound vaguely resembling a growl, which sent a shiver of excitement straight to her core, as he began thrusting harder, and harder.

Belle could only cling to him as she felt the deep, aching pleasure build up again, becoming more and more intense with each hard stroke. She was long past the point of speaking and could only mindlessly gasp, sigh, and groan, at each delicious sensation he caused as he moved within her, seemingly touching everywhere as he did so.

Without warning, the strong waves of pleasure broke out within her again, bringing him over the edge as well, calling out her name as he came.

Panting, and covered in a thin, sheen of sweat, Gold gently removed her legs from around his neck, and rolled her on top of him again. He sighed, smiling, and kissed her again.

Belle's smile matched his, as she framed his face, kissing him softly on the lips again, while he stroked her back up and down. Finally, even kissing was too tiring and she moved down to lay her head on his chest.

If she could, she would stay like this forever, she decided in the moment—at peace, warm, and content in Gold's arms. She knew it was impossible, but for now, it was a nice dream, and she closed her eyes, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart.

When she opened her eyes again, the room was brighter, and she slowly came to the realization that she had fallen asleep, yet again, in his arms. This time, he was awake before her, looking up at her fondly, as she blinked at him, smiling.

"Good morning, again," he whispered, pulling a strand of hair away from her face.

She chuckled, embarrassed, and hid her face against his chest. "Morning." She looked back up. "What time is it?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," she chided, with a smile, rolling off of him to sit up, to try and see the clock. _10:37 a.m._ "We can't stay in bed all day."

"Darling, showing me your perfect breasts is not the best way to start that argument."

Covering herself with the sheet, she swatted him playfully with her hand. "You're horrible."

He laughed back. "And you're beautiful."

She blushed, unable to resist his simple charms, and collapsed back on top of him in a small laugh. "You're too much," she muttered against his chest.

"And yet, quite persuasive it seems."

Belle kissed his chest, muffling her laugh. She couldn't bring herself to tear herself from his arms, so she crossed her arms under her head and propped her chin up to look at him. "So, what would you rather do, instead?"

His chest rumbled with laughter, as he suggestively lifted his hips. "Do you really need to ask?"

"Aiden—"

"Belle," he replied, his eyes crinkling with a mischievous smile.

"We have to go finalize the plan today, and pack. We agreed."

"Aye," he said, lifting his head forward to kiss her. "But I don't believe a time of day was ever agreed upon."

She shared his reluctance, but they did eventually have to leave the bed. With all of the documents translated, and their wounds nearly completely healed, they had agreed to finish the plan they had been working on for the past three weeks today, even if it meant that they would be forced to leave this little sanctuary they had created. "We have to—"

He pulled her closer, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "Just lie here for a moment longer, and indulge an old man in his fantasy of keeping you here forever."

"You're not old. Stop saying that," she lightly reprimanded him, snuggling closer.

Gold answered with a disbelieving snort, running his hand up and down her back, keeping silent for a long moment.

"I don't want to leave here, either," she quietly admitted after a long moment.

"Well, we can come back…"

Belle pulled back from his embrace, adjusting herself to lie beside him and smiled, trying to appease the worried look on his face. "I know. And I want to. But, it's just… I'm happy here, and I don't want…" She shrugged sheepishly, unable to finish the thought.

"You deserve more than this, Belle," he said, his voice soft, yet serious. "I won't allow you to be forced into this life. You've done nothing wrong." He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Of course, except for deciding to involve yourself with the likes of me."

"Stop it," Belle laughed, swatting him again. "I'd want no one else at my side."

"Truly?"

"Truly," she whispered, leaning up to kiss him.

His mouth quivered into a smile. "I don't deserve you."

"No, you don't," she chuckled again. "But you're stuck with me. So how about we go downstairs, finish our plan, so we can come back up here to bed?"

Gold's lips pursed in contemplation, and gave a low hum, as if weighing her offer.

"Of course, we're going to have to take a shower first—" Gold immediately cut her off, throwing off the covers, making Belle squeal with laughter.

"You've got yourself a deal, love."

…

By the time, they finally made it out of bed and the shower, it was nearly midday and Belle's fingers were frighteningly pruned. To be sure, Belle would've been more than happy to indulge Gold by staying in their bed all day, but as she also knew that they couldn't put this off any longer. Her only comfort was that the sooner they took down Regina, or located this Red Queen of Gold's; they would be able to go home, or return here.

Breakfast, or rather brunch, was a combined effort, and served as yet another painful reminder of what they stood to lose, or gain, on the success of their mission. Afterwards, they took their papers and tea outside to the patio outside, sitting next to each other at the tiled table.

As they quietly read beside each other, Belle couldn't help but notice how good Gold looked, as he reclined in the seat beside her, concentrating on his reading. He looked the most relaxed she had ever seen him; frankly, he looked just damn _good _with his white-collar shirt slightly unbuttoned, and day old stubble along his cheeks. She had to pull her gaze back to her reading to distract herself, or else jumping him was going to become an option. It wasn't as if she hadn't done it before.

"You're smiling," Gold quietly observed, over his reading, his glasses edged down his nose.

Belle blushed, biting her lip in embarrassment in being caught. "Just thinking."

"Hmm?"

"I still think that this one is our best shot," she replied, pushing a thick file towards him, ignoring his teasing eyebrow.

He flipped through the file, humming appraisingly. "And why is that?"

"Of the three, that one has the means, and opportunity. It's a perfect cover, really, to manage a large asset base without drawing attention."

Gold immediately sensed her hesitation. "But…?"

"But, I still think that we should go with the original plan. I don't think that we should start from this Red Queen angle. You've spent years trying to track this person down with no success—I think that we should attack it from the Malus and Mills angle."

He opened his mouth to interject, and Belle held up a hand. "No, hear me out. I think that, especially with Mills involved, there might be a tie-in to the Red Queen that we could still find. It's a firmer position to be successful on both fronts. Mills has to be the priority, in order for us to be able to pursue the Queen without having to look behind our backs for attacks from both fronts. If we can prove that Mills is involved, and get concrete evidence against her, then we can make a case for how she black-listed us."

"But all my files regarding Malus were destroyed in Siena."

"So? We'll go back to your original sources. We might get even get better, more concrete information now; at least so we can be able to have some sort of an idea on the timeline, or where the money is coming from."

He shook his head. "No."

"No?"

"Those sources, if you want to call them that, are a group of very dangerous people."

"You don't say," Belle deadpanned, resting the strong urge to roll her eyes at him. "How did you get to them before?"

"I'd rather not involve you with those men."

"Aiden!"

"What if they recognize you, or an asset identifies and marks you meeting with terrorists?"

"Well, I can't go any lower now, can I?"

Gold looked stricken, instead of amused, by her quip. "Belle…"

"Aiden, this is the only way to get the inside on Malus, and you know it." She paused, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Now, how did you get in touch with these men before?"

He sat back with a sigh, taking another sip of tea. "I provided services, and information to them. Occasionally, some wet work."

"Did they contact you?"

"No, it was more of a matter of me stopping by if I thought that I had information that they would want."

"So you know where they are…"

Gold paused, swallowed, and finally nodded. "Yes."

"Perfect. Then, we'll just go find something that they want."

"But, you're forgetting about how to get an 'in' with Malus."

"No, I'm not. We'll simply find something they want, in exchange for getting an 'in' Malus. We could become co-financiers."

"You want to finance Malus?"

"Well, how else do you propose to get any information on it? They're not going to give you any details unless they know you're serious. And plus, they know you're a man with the means and motive to screw over the US, as well as I, if they ever identify me. It's a good cover." She sensed his paused of discomfort, as he thumbed over the file. "Is there something that I'm forgetting?"

"No. No, you're right. I only wish that there was another way."

"Is there?"

"For what you're proposing…no."

"Okay, then we'll attack it from that angle. But first, we need to go to Athens."

Gold froze, his eyes narrowing. "What's in Athens?"

Belle bit her lip, bracing herself for his reaction.

"Belle?"

"Yeah, umm…" she paused, pursing her lips. "You're really not going to like the first part of this plan."

…

"If you go in there, you'll be killed."

"Gee, your confidence in me is overwhelming," Belle shot back in irritation, putting down her binoculars, and turning away from the hotel room's window. "How else would you propose we get in there?"

"Hack it."

"Impossible; those files are housed in that secure facility for that very reason."

Gold huffed, turning away from her to look back out the window, over at the US Embassy across the street, which housed the largest CIA telecommunications complex in Europe. Among other things, the complex acted as a relay point between Langley and the rest of Europe. If there was any place to intercept any communications about them, especially regarding the activated assets, it was here. "It's not worth the risk. We don't need them."

"Aidan, if we don't get those assets' files, we'll be sitting ducks to get taken out at any moment. With those files—"

"With those files, we'll still be blacklisted."

"Yes, but we'll be able to identify them before they can get to us, or at least know which ones are operating in the area to be on the lookout, especially if we use the contacts. Trust me, I've used them before—they work—and we're going to need to use them if we're going to be out there working. But, if we don't get those files, we can't use them."

"Belle, you're blacklisted. The instant they scan you, they have carte blanche to kill you on spot by any means possible. You can't just walk in that building, and expect to waltz out with level-five information."

"I can, if I have the director's identification, which—"

Gold growled, getting up from his seat, and began to pace the room. "That's not what I'm worried about! We can get the damn director's identification. I don't want you to go in that building alone."

"Well, we can't go in together. If one of us gets caught, then—"

"That's my point, Belle! They won't 'catch' you, they'll kill you, dammit!"

Belle stood up in turn, miffed at his angry tone. "We agreed to this plan."

"No, I agreed to the plan that you would get the assets' files. You didn't mention anything about having to go inside the building."

"Well, how did you think that I was going to do it?"

"Not like that. It doesn't matter. You're not going."

"Excuse me?" Belle asked, cocking her jaw.

"You're not going in there. It's too dangerous."

"Since when do you get to decide what is too dangerous for me?" She stopped, glaring as he opened his mouth to retort. "Don't you _dare_ answer that question. One of us needs to go in there and get the files, and since I'm the only one who has actually been inside that building recently, and can actually run around, it has to be me."

"We don't need them. We can work without it."

"Yes, let's just go around the world, completely blind to everyone who is trying to kill us. Fantastic plan. You really think _that _is safer than getting the files?"

"Yes."

Belle clenched her jaw, forcing back all the insults that were coming to mind.

Gold narrowed his own eyes at her, matching her glare for a long, tense moment, before he finally stepped back with a nod. "Then, I'll go."

"What?"

"I'll go. I'll get the files."

Belle threw up her hands. "That's just ridiculous."

"If you need them so badly, then I'll go get them."

"Aiden, are you even listening to yourself? This is insane. We already agreed that I was going to go get the files, and that you would provide backup. We _agreed_ to this. You can't go in there."

"Why not?"

"Aiden," she growled, clenching her hands in frustration. She took one long, steadying breath, trying to will herself not to be drawn into the argument. "This can't be about us. This has to be about the mission, and who is better suited for each task. Now, look me in the eye and tell me that you should be the one going in there, instead of me."

Gold clenched his jaw, glaring at her, seemingly holding back from what he wanted to say as well.

"I promise that I won't do anything rash. If I feel like it's going to hell, I'll get out of there and we'll find another way. Okay?"

His eyes narrowed in anger, but he slowly tipped his head in acceptance. "Fine."

"It's a good plan. We've been over it from every angle. We can do this." She took a step forward, lightly pressing her hand to his chest, needing him to trust her. "I'm not going to lie to you. If I feel like I can't do something, I'll tell you. But, I know I can do this. I've done it before."

He swallowed, closing his eyes for a long moment. "When?"

She frowned, lowering her hand. "Wha—"

"When did you do it before? I just…just tell me you can do this."

"A year ago, I broke into Mossad, and then earlier this year, I broke into M6 to retrieve files on some suspected sleepers. Both times, I was in and out without any complications, or any casualties. I can do this, I swear it."

"All right," he murmured, exhaling a shaky breath. "Then, I'll trust you."

Belle beamed, leaning up on her toes to capture his lips in a kiss. "See? That wasn't so hard was it?"

Gold barked a dry laugh, almost a cough. "I'm beginning to see why I worked alone for so long."

"Well, I'm amazed that you've lasted this long without one, considering how many times I've saved your fine ass since I've met you."

"You think I have a fine ass?" he teased, raising a sly eyebrow.

"I do. So maybe, a partner is what you needed."

"Or maybe, I just needed you?"

Belle smiled, blushing at the warm feeling that immediately filled her. She couldn't help herself, as she kissed him again, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. "Maybe, we needed each other. You did save me on more than one occasion, too."

He shrugged. "Actually, it was closer to four times."

"Four?"

"The villa, the boat, the—"

"Okay, okay," she laughed, cutting him off. "You've made your point. But…can you trust me when I say that I can do this?"

He bowed his head, touching her forehead. "Promise not to get hurt."

"Aidan—"

"Promise me."

"I promise that I'll come back to you."

Gold nodded, appeased, and pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. "Then, I'll trust you. But, the minute you feel like something is—"

"I'll abort and get out of there."

"Okay."

They smiled at each other, holding each other for a long moment before Belle finally pulled away. "Now, let's get this over with, so we can get out of this city."

"Not a fan of Athens, dearie?"

"Not particularly when I have every asset in Europe looking for us."

"Fair enough. Let's go get your files."

…

"So, how long are you in town for?"

Belle swirled her drink around, taking a sip, and playfully tipped it towards her companion. "It depends."

Sebasten Papadopoulos, the Athens' CIA communications director, smiled at her, exposing his row of stained, crooked teeth. "On what?"

She leaned forward, arching her eyebrow at him suggestively, feigning interest. The man was well known within the Company to be a complete and utter womanizer, who only maintained his position due to well-placed friends on the Hill. Emma had been one of many female agents to tell Belle about how he had tried to pick up on her, on more than on one occasion, even _after _he knew of her status as an active SOC agent. This lack of common sense made him an easy target, and was one of the main reasons Belle had chosen this embassy to break into. "On when I get bored here."

"And, are you getting bored now?" Papadopoulos leered, rubbing his calf along hers.

"Quite."

"May I suggest something more…entertaining?"

"You may."

Papadopoulos smirked knowingly, and laid down a large bill on the bar counter. "Have you seen the city at night?"

Belle had to stifle a groan, struggling to maintain her cover. "Of course," she replied.

"But…not from the Acropolis."

_Ugh._ "I thought that that was closed at night."

"Not to people like me."

"People like you? Are you a secret agent or something?"

"Something like that."

_Time to wrap this up._ "_Really_? Well, I can't say that I've ever been to the Acropolis, let alone with a secret agent."

"Would you like to go now?"

Belle pulled her leg away from the contact, swirling away from him in her seat. She had been "flirting" with this pig of a man for twenty minutes too long, it was time to leave. Collecting her purse, she fluttered her eyelashes, and traced her finger along his flabby jowls. "I'd love to," she purred in his ear. Without looking back, she walked out of the bar, hearing the heavyset man wheeze behind her, trying to catch up. She turned around, once she was outside, and pulled her coat away to expose her low-cut top. "So…where to now?"

Papadopoulos' jaw dropped, and his eyes immediately fixated on her chest. "I…uh, I have a…I have a car over there."

"Perfect," she whispered, trying to keep her voice low and sultry.

The director nodded, and took her elbow to guide her to his car, which was parked along the darkened side street. "Shall we?" he asked once they arrived, holding open the door for her, in what was his only gentlemanly gesture he'd performed all night.

Belle simply turned towards him, trailing her hand up his neck, smiling back. "Maybe another time," she grinned, pressing the adhesive dot of tranquilizer onto his neck.

The director slumped in her arms immediately, but she was ready, and pulled the sedan's rear door open, using her momentum to throw him in the backseat.

"Oh, honey, don't worry. I'll have you home in a minute," she said loudly, as she walked over to the other side of the car, covering herself in case someone was watching. With her back to the street, she put on the gloves that she had been hiding in her purse, and pulled on Papadopoulos' shirt to drag him fully in the car. _Ugh_, she heaved, struggling to get the last bit of him in, finally closing the door behind him with a huff.

Taking out the disposable phone she had purchased earlier, she quickly dialed the memorized number and pressed 'send.' Gold picked up on the first ring. "It's done."

He clicked off without reply, and Belle immediately destroyed the phone, placing the two broken parts in front of the car's front tire. _Keys,_ she remembered, returning to the rear seat. With a little awkward maneuvering, she was able to grab the small key out of the passed out man's pocket, along with his wedding ring.

The only redeemable thing about this sorry excuse for a CIA director was his car, Belle decided, easing out onto the main road. As much as she really wanted to put the powerful V-12 through its paces, she held back, not being able to afford drawing attention to herself.

It only took a few minutes to drive to the abandoned warehouse, where Gold was already waiting for her, in a white, unmarked van. She immediately pulled into the building, parking alongside him, and killed her lights.

"Everything go according to plan?" he asked, walking towards her door.

Belle rolled her eyes as she exited the vehicle. "The man's a disgusting bastard."

"Did he do anything—"

"Besides try to cheat on his wife with the worst pickup line ever? No. The fucker weighs a metric ton, though. How about you?"

"No problems. Miss Nikas is sleeping peacefully in the back." He gestured to the van.

"Well, let's get this over with then."

…

An hour later, Belle was outfitted in Nikas' maid uniform, and walking through the embassy's Regional Relay Facilities' maintenance doors. There was one thing she knew from years of undercover work—the best way to disguise oneself was simply to hide in plain sight. Most hurried security workers and agents would pay no mind to an unfamiliar maintenance lady.

They chose for her to enter the building at 10:50 p.m., right before the changing of the security shifts. Their thinking was that workers wouldn't be as attentive at this hour. Belle noticed the security guard in front of her was nodding off, and smirked to herself, watching the man's eyelids slowly lower as he observed the monitors.

Belle casually walked up to the security desk, swiping her card through the slot, while showing her newly forged ID badge to the guard.

The man frowned for a moment too long, as he scrutinized the x-ray of her bag, causing Belle's heart to stop for a moment, but finally, after a long pause, he nodded, passing her though.

With her heart still in her throat at the near miss, Belle sighed, as if bored, and collected her items, walking directly to the storage rooms.

Thankfully, the room was empty when she arrived, and she promptly picked up a spare cleaning cart, exiting the room without a trace.

Maintaining her easy gait, she strolled over to the bathrooms around the corner, and walked into a stall. Once inside, she opened her purse, removing the lipstick. She broke off the end of the tube in one quick motion. Inside the tube were a dime-sized transmitter and two translucent audio strips, which she attached to either side of her throat. The subvocalizer would allow her to communicate with Gold, who was hiding in the Athens Concert Hall across the street, monitoring her though the soon to be hacked security monitors on his phone.

"Test." Even though Gold would hear her loud and clear, anyone standing nearby, even standing right next to her, would be unable to hear anything.

"I can hear you loud and clear, dearie," Gold replied, his voice booming in her earpiece.

"I'm in," she replied, trashing the lipstick container, after wiping her prints. "Give me five to hook in to the monitors." She looked back up, and startled herself, not recognizing herself in the mirror through all of the prostheses and makeup that Gold had applied.

Belle kept her head down, as pushed her cart towards the elevator. The director's office was on the fifth floor and required a security clearance to attain access. While she had his card in her pocket, her priority was to tap into the security feed, in case this all went to hell and she needed Gold's assistance getting out. Thankfully, Jefferson had thought to include one of his induction transmitters in the supplies he had sent them.

Continuing her slow stroll past the elevators, she walked by the main security station. The door had no windows so she could see how many men were manning the surveillance post, but she knew from experience that there would only be no more than two at this late hour. Not wanting to waste anymore time, she swiped her security card though the slot; the door's small light clicked to green.

Once inside, the men watching the screens turned around, startled by her intrusion. "Do you need something?" the man, closest to her, asked.

"Ahh…yes. I'm sorry to bother you, but there was no one at the Security desk. I need an escort to Director Papadopoulos' office. I am scheduled to clean it."

The man to her right swung back around, his interest immediately gone. "They'll be there in five minutes," his companion said. "The shift switches out now; you must have just missed him. See," he pointed to the monitor, "there's someone there now."

"Thank you. I'm sorry to have bothered you," she said, trying to appear nervous. She moved back and stumbled on the door ledge, falling to the floor.

The security guard immediately came to her aid. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm, uh, I'm sorry. I'm clumsy," she sputtered, waving off his assistance. "Thank you for your help."

"Of course, ma'am."

Belle gave him a shy smile, and backed completely out of the room. Once out, she followed the security guards instructions, and returned towards the entrance once again.

"How's the feed?"

"Getting it up now…okay, I have you on screen."

"Is there anyone on the fifth floor?"

"Two maintenance workers and that's it."

"Okay, record it. I'll need ten minutes."

"I'm going to record twelve."

Belle smirked. "Fine. Marking time now."

The line went dead, and she pressed the timer on her watch to mark the time. 11:02 p.m. _Well, time to play maid._ She walked over to the security guard station, just in case the men in the monitor rooms were bored enough to check and see if she had followed her directions.

"Good evening."

The man at the window's head snapped up. "What can I help you with?"

"I need an escort to level five."

"Do you have clearance?"

"Yes, I do," she nodded.

"Then, why are you coming here?"

Belle was taken aback_. So the protocol had changed since last time, interesting_. "I apologize. I'm new."

"Yeah, yeah," the man waved her off, signaling their conversation to be over.

With that matter surprisingly easily resolved, Belle headed back towards the elevators, pressing the button to the fourth floor.

"Do you want me to keep recording?"

"Yes," she replied back, keeping her features fixed so anyone looking wouldn't notice that she was actually talking. "I don't want to leave any trace."

"Very well, dearie. You have eight minutes."

"How many people are working on the fourth floor?"

"Three."

Belle pressed the button to the fourth floor. 10:06. _Eight minutes to go._

"Are any cameras positioned near the bathrooms?"

"Let me check…no. You're clear."

The elevator opened, revealing a nearly empty corridor. She spotted one worker down the hall, to the left, but was unable to see the other two.

"Around the left corner, entering an office, and in a room three doors to your left, as well," Gold replied, as if sensing what she was looking for.

"Thanks." Belle turned right, spotting a darkened room at the end of the hall. She pushed her cart down the linoleum floor as quietly as she could, and quickly her security card through the door's slot, locking it behind her as soon as she was inside.

Without a moment to waste, Belle pulled off the maid's uniform, revealing a plain suit underneath. The quick-change cloth the suit was made of was extremely thin; it was useful in situations such as these, since she had her tact suit underneath it as well.

Abandoning the cart behind her, she exited the room, carrying the pop-out briefcase that she had stored in her purse. She also adjusted her new badge, identifying her as a technical support specialist.

_10:12._ _Two minutes._

She took her time walking back to the elevator, in order to allow Gold more time to record the loop that he would substitute for the minutes she was about to use, while also taking care not to run into the other workers on the floor.

_10:11. One minute._

Belle pressed the 'up' button. _Showtime._ Adrenaline began to seep in, but she battled it back down with well-practiced discipline.

_**DING.**_

The elevator door's opened, revealing a security guard—the same guard from the front desk.

Belle's pulse caught in her throat, seeing a slight flash of recognition in the man's eyes.

"Going up?"

Belle nodded, keeping her head down, and entered the elevator.

"Working late?"

"Mm hmm," she replied, not wanting to try for a new accent on such short notice.

The man seemed to be appeased, and fell silent beside her.

Thankfully, the ride was short, and the door soon opened again. Belle hesitated, trying to have the man exit before her, but he allowed her to go in front. With her nerves on edge, she stepped out of the elevator, willing the man to go along with her. However, no footsteps followed. _Shit._

"Switch over to the recording now," she murmured to Gold, turning back towards the closing elevator. Belle struck her hand out, intercepting the doors. "Wrong floor," she explained with a smile.

The security guard's eyes widened with even more recognition at the sound of her voice. Belle reacted quickly, darting forward to press a tranquilizer dot to his neck.

"Talk to me, French."

Belle ignored Gold for a moment, pressing the "Open Door" button, allowing her time to drag the unconscious man from the elevator.

"Who the hell is that?"

"He recognized me. Where are the others?" she asked, taking the man's gun and walkie-talkie.

"Down the hall; one is in a room cleaning, the other is a security guard walking your way."

_Great._ Belle holstered the gun and walkie-talkie in her waistband, covering them with her jacket. She walked around the corner—tranquilizer in hand—and nearly collided with the aforementioned security man.

"What the—"

The man's eyes rolled back in his head, immediately feeling the tranquilizer's effects, and slumped to the floor.

Leaving the man where he fell, Belle could hear the third worker's loud vacuum cleaner bellowing down the hall. With that worker occupied, she pulled the two unconscious guards into a nearby room as quickly as she could, leaving them there to sleep off the effects. "What's my time?"

"Nine minutes."

_Shit._ This wasn't in the plan. However, it was still plenty of time to complete her mission, though.

Papadopoulos' office was in the same direction as the worker, so she ran down the hall, not caring about the noise she was making, and ran into the room without preamble.

"Chreiázontai voí theia?"

Belle ignored her question; instead, she walked right up to her, and pressed the small dot to her neck. The woman's eyes widened for a moment, before slumping to the ground like the others. Belle made sure she was okay, before she left the room, leaving her vacuum running for the noise.

_11:18._ _Eight minutes. Okay, I can do this,_ she reminded herself, sprinting from the room and down the hall.

The director's office required a special key card, as well as a fingerprint scan; Belle had both, including an iris scan, depending on the security measures she found inside. She slid the card.

_**Beep.**_ Red.

She slid it again.

_**Beep.**_ Red.

"French?"

She slid it slower. _**Beep**_. Red.

"Gold, it's not working."

She slid it again._** Beep. **_Red. "Fuck."

"Try the fingerprint scan, first."

Following his suggestion, Belle pressed her hand to the scanner. _**Beep.**_ Green. _Thank god_. She repeated sliding the card. _**Beep.**_ Green.

The door's lock clicked open.

She immediately slid through, opening the briefcase, which contained Jefferson's slew of hacking gadgets she had brought in. His computer was conveniently already running, so she moved the mouse to take it out of 'sleep' mode. She was immediately prompted for a security code and password. Without adieu, she placed Jefferson's decoding USB into an available port. She didn't know how it worked, but within seconds, the prompt screen cleared, allowing her access into all of the director's files.

From here, she knew where to find what she needed. First, she needed to find their own files, to see what their current status was and which assets were activated against them. That took little time, and she immediately inserted another flash drive into the computer to copy the files over, resisting the urge to read them.

"Five minutes," Gold reminded her in her ear.

"Okay," she replied, clicking out of their file screen, and searching active assets in Langley's database, which was directly tied to this communications office. Since she didn't have time to read their files to know which assets they were up against, she simply selected all known assets' files, nearly 15,000 documents, and moved them over to the drive to copy.

A prompt window opened up: "Time to copy: 8:40 minutes."

"We have a problem."

"What?"

"I need you to loop the video again. I need ten more minutes."

"French," he warned.

"Just get me the minutes!"

Her heart pounded in her chest, as the window's timer counted down. _Come on, come on,_ she pleaded, willing it to speed up.

She continued to wait in the darkness, with only the glow of the monitor counting down her endless wait. _4 minutes, 15 seconds…_

"Papandreou, please report in."

Belle froze at the sudden noise erupting from the walkie-talkie.

"Papandreou, please report in."

"Halkias, have you seen Papandreou? He was last seen in your area."

A slight "ding" signaled the completion of their own files, but the other asset files were still copying. _3 minutes, 59 seconds…_

"Gold, I'm getting chatter on the security line. Do I have any visitors coming my way?"

"You're clear so far."

"I need three more minutes. I'm almost finished," she whispered back, her fingers twitching, trying to speed it up.

The files continued to copy, as the chatter over the walkie-talkie increased in frequency, and urgency, as their comrades didn't reply.

"_GET OUT OF THERE!"_ Gold suddenly yelled in her ear, panic evident in his voice, causing Belle to jump.

"_What?_ What's going on?"

"They're here!" _**BANG!**_ "Belle get ou—" _**BANG!**_

"Aiden!" she called back, hearing nothing but dead silence. "Aiden!" Her blood went cold, recognizing the sound of more gunshots. "Aiden!" Static echoed in her ears for a brief second, before going completely silent.

"Oh, god," she muttered to herself, pulling the flash drives out, not caring if they were finished yet. She needed to get to Gold.

"Halkias, we're coming up, please respond."

_Fuck this._ Belle cursed the damn guards, not needing this complication right now as she tried to quickly remember the layout of the building. She opened the door, but quickly spotted six men exiting the elevator. _Shit._

With her exit blocked, she ran over to the windows, and tried to open them up. None of them budged. She tried again, sending up a silent plea; it nudged up an inch, and then stopped.

She tried to force down her rising panic, and ran over to Jefferson's briefcase, scrambling to see if there was anything she could use. None of it was familiar, and with no night vision glasses to examine the items in detail, Belle was left with only her tact suit and the guards' guns to protect her. What she did know was that she couldn't stay in this office, lest she be discovered or locked down in the building once they found the unconscious guards. The window was her only option for escape.

Thinking quickly, Belle dropped the flash drives down her tact suit, securing them by her stomach, and dragged the large couch that was beside the door, in front of it, propping it under the handle to stall any intruders.

With the door secure, Belle returned to the window. Cringing at what she had to do, she took out the guard's gun, and shot once, creating a spider web of cracks in the large window. In a smooth motion, Belle ripped out the computer's cords, and threw the large box at the window, instantly shattering it.

Muffled shouts erupted from the hallway outside, and the door shook with people trying to force their way in.

Belle rapidly cleared the glass debris from the ledge with her coat, and took off her heels, easing onto the ledge. Only a five-inche sliver of concrete separated her from the ground three stories below.

She tried moving to the left, towards a large tree fifteen feet directly out in front of her, but immediately slipped, nearly falling.

_Fuck_, she cursed, frustrated by the lack of purchase. A loud bang against the office door snapped her out of her state, and she looked down, trying to judge whether she should attempt to scale down the wall, or try and make a jump for a tree.

A third option— a smaller tree closer to the building, but slightly father away—seemed to be the safest choice, but it would require scaling the window's thin ledge, and then jumping down ten feet and hit the tree below.

It was her best option though, so she carefully began inching her way to the right, splaying her toes and fingers wide against the glass. The loud sound of gunshots, coming from the director's office, made her quicken her pace, deftly moving to the right.

The only obstacle in her path was a large, three-foot pillar, which stuck out from the wall, blocking her path to the tree on the other side. Swallowing back her fear, Belle stuck out her leg, trying to wrap it around the edge. She could only get part of her foot around.

With adrenaline propelling her forward, she leapt towards the pillar, hooking her leg around as she collided with it. Her grip slipped, and she fell down several feet, finally stopping by sheer strength, her muscles burning as she gripped the pillar with all her might. Despite her effort, she began slowly sliding down. Her limbs were shaking with the effort of trying to slow her fall, but she couldn't stop.

_**BANG!**_

A gunshot hit the concrete only inches from her head, making her loosen her grip until she was sliding down the edge in nearly a freefall.

_**BANG! BANG!**_

More shots erupted from the director's window above, each one missing her by inches, as she continued to slide down.

The pillar finally stopped with one story to go, and she had no choice but to release her grip and fall to the ground. She managed to rotate her body enough, to roll at the impact, but the shock, and force, of the fall still reverberated though her bones.

Belle immediately sprang up and sprinted towards the opposite direction of the gunfire. She quickly looked around for an exit. The embassy was surrounded by a fifteen-foot fence that was designed to be impossible to scale, but Belle quickly determined that she had no other choice but to try and scale it. There was no other way.

Thankfully, she still had her belt on, which she unhooked, while she ran towards the mint green fence. Once in front of it, she realized that it wasn't much unlike some of the obstacles she scaled back in Ranger school. Hooking her belt around the straight pole, she held it with bold hands, and jumped up, bracing her legs against the bars.

As she had done in the past, she leveraged her weight against the bars and belt, and used moved the belt upwards.

"Stop right there, or we'll shoot."

Belle ignored the voice; she would be killed either way, if she continued upwards, or they caught her, so she continued to scale the wall. _So close…_

_**BANG!**_ A shot hit the bars directly in front of her.

"Stop right there! Atamatoún ekeí!"

_So close._ Belle moved the loop forward and pulled herself higher up.

_**BANG!**_

"Ahh!" Belle cried, feeling the bullet hit her back, right below her shoulder. The force nearly knocked her off the fence, but she steadied herself, moving the loop up higher, once, twice.

_**BANG! BANG! BANG!**_

Shots rang out in every direction as Belle heaved herself over the fence. Keeping low, she rolled towards the street. Cars whizzed by in front of her, as shots continued to fire in her direction.

Guards spilled out of the building, running in her direction. _Shit._ Unable to make a clear exit, Belle lunged at a stopped car in front of her. "Get out!" she commanded, yanking the driver out onto the street, as she dove in the car, slamming on the accelerator.

Blue and white lights lit up her rear view mirror, with the Hellenic police in full pursuit. Belle immediately eased off the accelerator, trying to blend into the traffic, as she eyed an escape route. It had been years since she had been in the city, and nightfall wasn't helping her recollection much.

She took a chance and darted right, pulling down a side street, and immediately put her car in park, killing the lights. Without bothering to wipe for prints, as they were the Papadopoulos' anyways, Belle ditched the car, leaving it to walk deeper into the dark alleyway.

As much as she wanted to, a further clothing switch wasn't an option at the moment, so she simply removed her wig, and tossed it into a nearby trash bin. She kept her prosthetics on though, in case they had facial recognition cameras set up.

The foremost concern in her mind, however, was Gold.

The Athens Concert Hall, where he had last spoken to her from, was located in the exact opposite direction from where she was walking, while their designated rendezvous point was ten miles in front of her. Belle felt utterly wretched about what to do and where to go—her heart was pulling her back towards the Concert Hall, while her rational side reminded her that Gold would want her to continue on to the rendezvous point.

She continued to wrestle with the decision, until she reached the end of the alleyway. A large police blockade, two blocks down, made the decision for her. She had no way to access the Concert Hall anymore, even if she wanted to; the street was completely blocked off.

"Goddammit, Gold, you better be okay," she said, letting out a shuddering breath, before turning back down the dark alley.

She knew that she couldn't hide here forever, lest she be blocked in further by the blockade, so she calmly exited the alleyway from the same entrance from which she came, chancing that the police weren't watching it.

Belle glanced to her left, keeping her head down all the while, and took note of her surroundings, trying to see anything amiss. The police weren't her only concern; whomever had ambushed Gold might still be out there if he didn't take care of them. _No,_ she reminded herself, _he did. He was fine. He had to be fine._

The street was quiet, with barely anyone in sight, so Belle began to look for cars to steal. With the police searching for a woman matching her description, she couldn't be out on the street by herself for long; it was simply foolish and too risky.

She checked her pocket, remembering that she still had the tranquilizer patches. Emptying out her pockets, she found that she still had three more. She also felt herself up, trying to find the flash drives in her suit. Thankfully, they were still secured near her stomach—the only part of her body, it seemed, that hadn't been banged up during her escape.

A couple taxis drove by. Getting an idea, she stepped out into the street, hailing one. A yellow Mercedes swiftly pulled up to the curb alongside her.

"Poú pas?"

"Do you speak English?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, miss. Where are you headed to this evening?"

"The Athens Ledra Marriott on Syngrou. I got turned around," she said, trying to play the part of a lost tourist.

"Get in. I can take you there."

"Thank you, sir."

To the man's surprise, Belle opened the front door, and got in. He was about to say something, when Belle pressed the small dot onto his hand, causing him to immediately slump over towards her.

Not wanting to draw attention, Belle put the car in park, and pulled the man into the passenger seat, crawling over him to switch their positions. The man slumped over towards her, so she pushed him back over, stealing his hat in the process. She pulled it down, low on her head, and drove off into the night, clicking the cab's light to the "off service" position.

Their original plan was to rendezvous at another abandoned building nearby, where they had a getaway car hidden and ready for their immediate departure. She still couldn't shake the feeling that she had abandoned him; an image of him shot, and bleeding out, kept haunting her thoughts as she drove on. _No, he got out._ Like Belle, Gold had his own tact suit that Jefferson had sent him, and he was armed to the teeth. _And he has his damn knife with him!_ Belle reminded herself.

It took her nearly thirty minutes to reach the rundown building, after performing several roundabouts and evasive driving measures to ensure that she didn't have any tails following her. She parked the taxi, in an alleyway two blocks away, silently apologizing to the unconscious driver as she left.

Waiting for a long moment to survey the area, Belle decided that she was clear, and slipped out onto street, keeping in the shadows as she jogged towards the building.

The broken street lights in front of the building made barely lit enough for Belle to make out any outlines in the darkness, so she kept low, walking around towards the back. Here, without any light source, the darkness was almost obsolete, which was one of the reasons they had chosen it the night before, but now, it seemed downright foolish. She couldn't see a damn thing.

Belle edged closer, stepping foot into the building. Her eyes fought against the pitch darkness, but the shapes soon formed into a large open warehouse, with their small Fabia parked in the center.

"Gold?" she whispered, toeing towards the car. "Gold?" she asked again, peering into the car, hoping to see a familiar head of hair, but it was empty.

He wasn't there.

Panic took hold of her. _Oh, god._ A cold shiver of fear went through her, amplifying her panic. She checked her watch—1:34 a.m. It had taken her nearly an hour to cross the short distance. _Had he gone back? Was he trapped? Was he hurt? Was he de—_ She swallowed, tears pricking her eyes, as she stopped herself from finishing the thought.

She looked over the car again, hoping to see a note or some evidence that he had been there, but it was as clean as when they had parked it there yesterday.

_I have to go back_. It was the only plan of action that made any sense. With nothing to write with, or on, Belle tore off a strip of her shirt, which already was ruined by the bullet hole, and tied it to the driver's side view mirror. She couldn't help but think that he might mistake it for a ransom note instead, so she tied it again in a bow. _Who the hell would tie a pretty bow to show that they had kidnapped someone, anyways?_ Gold was smart; he would figure it out.

With one last look around the building, Belle sprinted out of the room, and down the alleyway, hoping that her taxi was still where she left it.

Thankfully, it was still parked in the alleyway, with the driver still asleep in the passenger seat. _Hi, again,_ she snickered, opening the door and turning on the car. The man didn't even flinch, not that she expected him to. The effects of the high dose methohexital would last for four to six hours on the dose she gave him.

Pulling out into the street, Belle whipped a U-turn across traffic, and began driving back towards the Concert Hall. She took another glance down at her watch—1:52 a.m. _Too long._ She was becoming edgy, knowing that she had fucked up and made the wrong call. She should've known. The panic in his voice…another shiver of fear ran over her.

She had only driven one block, when a figure, partially obscured in the shadows, drew her attention. She slowed the car, drawn by the…_Oh, my, god!_

Belle swerved hard to the left, causing her unconscious passenger to nearly fall off the seat. She was out of the car before she realized it, running as fast as she could towards the limping man, braced against the wall. "Aiden!" she called out, running faster towards him.

Gold's head shot up, startled, and immediately took a limping step towards her, faltering. "Belle?"

She was in his arms, before he could react, wrapping herself around him. "Aiden," she gasped, burying her face in his shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't get to the Hall, and then I thought you would be at the car…" she trailed off, her words getting choked in her throat.

Her own cries were muffled, by Gold pulling her closer to him. "I thought they got you, too," he whispered, pulling her tight against him, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Gods, I thought I lost you, too."

Belle pulled away, but couldn't see him with all the tears in her eyes, quickly blinking them away. "What happened?"

"I was ambushed—no, it's fine," he added quickly, seeing a look in her eye. "I lost my cane, and they have the area blockaded. I tried to get here as fast as I could," he explained, running his hands all over her, as if he couldn't believe she had returned to her. He froze, feeling the small dot. "You're shot."

"The suit held."

The observation seemed to sober him, and he pulled away from their tight embrace. "We need to get out of here," he whispered urgently.

"That's my taxi," she explained, lifting his arm around her shoulders. It was only then that she saw the blood, covering the front of her blouse. "Aiden…"

He shook his head, pulling her onwards. "Not mine," he grimaced.

"How many?"

"Four." His breathing was labored, as she opened the door, helping him in the backseat.

"Were you followed?"

Gold waited for her to start the car before answering. "I tried not to be. I walked, and then took a motorcycle, until about a mile from here. I couldn't detect anyone tailing me, but we need to be cautious."

"Who were they?" she asked, pulling back into the street.

"Russian. Possibly from the same group as the boat and villa, but I couldn't be sure. They knew my name, and were trying to find you too. That's when I—" he stopped. "Did they hurt you?"

"Who? The Russians? No, it was only the embassy security, as far as I know. That damn security guard in the elevator fucked it all up. I got out before they were able to send out everyone."

"But they shot you—"

"Climbing the fence," she said, making another one-eighty to see if they had any tails. "I had no choice, I was completely exposed. I…" she shrugged, taking a deep breath.

Gold reached over, and threaded his hand through the partition, stilling. "Who is that?"

"What? Oh, the driver. He got a dose about an hour ago."

"Are you planning on taking him along with us?"

Belle chuckled at his remark, reaching up to give his hand a brief squeeze. "No. I'll leave him in the car when we switch. Do you want me to go back to the rendezvous point?"

"No, if they found me at the Concert Hall, then they probably tracked us there yesterday."

"But, our supplies…?"

"We'll have to make do. There was nothing in there that they could us against us. I made sure of it."

"I had to abandon the briefcase in the office, so I could jump. We didn't have anything that could implicate us in there either, but I left it there."

"You _what?_"

"I had to leave it—"

"No, the jumping part."

"Oh, I'll explain later," Belle waved him off, turning the car again. "First, where am I going? I'm headed west now, but…"

"Airports are probably going to be on lockdown until the morning because of your attack. We'll have to find somewhere to stay tonight."

"I know of a small town outside the city. I've used it before."

"Then we can't—" he started apologetically.

"Right, sorry. I forgot. Do you know ?"

Gold sat back in the seat quietly, thinking. Belle was almost about to ask again, before he leaned forward. "I have an old asset to the north of here. He might not appreciate us coming at this hour, but he's reliable."

"Show me the way, then."

…

"_Trust me."_

_You have _got_ to be fucking joking me, _Belle thought with her jaw dropped, as she struggled to have faith in Gold's parting words, while she watched him converse with none else than number eight on the CIA's most wanted list—Hakim Zamani—also known as the world's preeminent illegal arms dealer.

The men were engaged in a light conversation that would appear to anyone passing by that they were old friends. Suddenly, they both turned in her direction, obviously discussing her. Belle could only manage a curt wave from the car, still thrown by the surrealness of the situation. There was literally no way to begin to count the number of things wrong about this situation.

Gold seemed to share none of her qualms, as he continued to converse with the man, smiling as he did so. Finally, the two men shook hands and Gold limped back to the car.

"Zamani? Are you fucking joking me?"

"Yes, ah—"

"Do you think you might have mentioned this to me before we came here?"

Gold simply shook his head, adjusting himself in the seat. "Couldn't chance you shooting him before I was able to explain our situation to him."

"And he's your asset?"

"Customer, now, actually."

"Christ," she groaned.

"He said that we're free to stay in his guest house down the road," he said, casually ignoring her.

Belle simply stared back at him. "We're going to _stay_ here?"

"I warned you before that these men I deal with now are—"

"I know," she winced, easing on the gas to drive down the landscaped, gravel driveway. "I just wasn't expecting that. In the future, a little more warning than 'trust me' would be appreciated."

"Noted. I'm apologize."

"You don't have to apologize. I was just a little…taken aback, shall we say." Belle put the car in park, stopping in front of a small, two-story house. "Does he know who I am?"

"I told him that you were my associate, but I'm fairly certain that if he doesn't know yet, he will. Zamani is nothing, if not, resourceful."

"Will we be safe here, though?"

"He won't harm you, or I," Gold reassured, sensing her question, as he exited the vehicle. Belle immediately stepped around the car to help him; it seemed that talking with Zamani for even that short time without his cane had worn his leg out. "Zamani, despite his reputation, is a shrewd businessman. He has nothing to gain by killing his foremost importer, or by angering me harming you."

Belle groaned at the confirmation of her suspicions. "Ahh, I don't want to hear that."

"I don't want to keep anything from you."

Belle nodded, biting back her protest of not wanting to know any more of Gold's activities, especially after his sudden insistence of trusting her in such matters. She sensed that Zamani was simply the first of many such characters in Gold's new circle of acquaintances that he would tell her about.

Once inside the small, yet lavishly decorated, guesthouse, Belle paused, allowing Gold to close the door behind him with his free hand. Daylight was already upon them, shining through the windows. It only served, as yet another, reminder of how long she had been running on adrenaline alone. It had taken them nearly seven hours to drive to the Chalkidiki Peninsula, where Zamani's home was located.

"Let's go lie down, shall we?"

"Please," Belle agreed gratefully, feeling suddenly exhausted, as she turned them towards the wide staircase.

The top floor was completely open, with a striking, floor-to-ceiling view of the ocean, but all Belle could focus on was the large, inviting bed along the far wall. Gold's wince, though, drew her attention away, immediately overriding her need for rest. "Lie down," she instructed," and I'll go see what I can find to help your knee."

"No," Gold said, firmly, limping over to her side. "You need to rest."

"But your knee—"

"Won't get any worse due to a couple hours of sleeping beside you."

Belle tried to protest, but fatigue made her mind hazy. "At least, let me take a look at it."

"You've done enough for me. It's high time for me to return the favor. This," he said, gesturing to his knee, "…is a nuisance, nothing more. Please let me."

The pleading look in his eye stifled any thought of her protest and she nodded, accepting a chaste kiss from him in thanks.

"You're shaking," he observed, as he carefully removed her blouse.

She was, even more so now that they had finally stopped moving. "It'll only get worse. I'll sleep on the couch. " And it would. The shakes were an inevitable result of overdrawing her body's reserves of adrenaline and energy. Even her fingers were shaking too badly to undo her buttons.

"Nonsense," he replied in dismissal, simply directing her towards the bed, allowing her to sit.

"What happened?" she asked, sleepily, running her finger along the front of his bloodstained shirt.

"I'll tell you later. You need to rest now," he gently insisted, pulling off her slacks, wincing as he bent to pull them off.

As much as she wanted to help him, Belle could tell by the deep concentration, etched on his face, as he examined her, that he needed to do this for himself. Selfishly, she appreciated his gesture. It was nice to have someone to care for her, even in as something as simple as this.

His finger traced her shoulder, slowly pulling down her tact suit to expose a deep, purple bruise covering her shoulder, and down her back, where she knew that it would be worse. Gold pressed his lips softly to the bruise and Belle leaned down in return, kissing the top of his head. He looked up; his eyes were full of remorse, and bright with unshed tears.

Belle's heart clenched at his unexpected show of emotion, and helped him up on the bed beside her, framing his face in her hands to give him a soft kiss. "What's wrong?" she quietly asked.

Gold pulled away though, resting his forehead on hers. "I can't lose you, Belle," he whispered, his voice cracking slightly on her name. "I can't lose you, too."

His mention of "too" peaked Belle's curiosity, but she was too tired, and felt that it would be too cruel for delve into it now, so she simply embraced him, feeling the security of him holding her. "You won't," she promised. "I'm here."

He nodded into her shoulder, turning his head to kiss her hair again.

"I'm here," she repeated again, pulling back to finish completely taking off suit, leaving her undergarments on, and helped him out of his own clothes as much as she could with her trembling hands, until they were both undressed.

Gold got in the bed first, lifting up the covers for her to join him. Belle slipped in, wincing as she laid on her wrong side at first.

"Are you sure you don't want me to sleep on the couch?" she asked through chattering teeth, not wanting to keep him awake with her shaking.

Gold simply pulled her tighter to him, curling his body around hers, and kissed her again.

Sore, but content, Belle intertwined her hand with his, and pulled it to her chest, enjoying the familiar rhythm of his breath rustling her hair. Exhaustion, combined with the calming sensation of Gold rubbing his hand up and down her arm, as he tried to relax her tense body, made for an irresistible combination, lulling her to a deep sleep.

…

An uncomfortable warmness awoke Belle from her deep sleep, causing her to open her eyes, and immediately shutting them against the oppressive glare of the sunlight shining directly into her eyes. She turned away from it, finding herself face-to-face Gold, who was already awake.

He simply smiled, tracing her jaw lightly with his finger, and then leaned in, kissing her lips. "How are you feeling?"

Belle stretched out, testing her limbs, and immediately regretted it, feeling her back seize up. "Like I jumped out of a window and got shot," she croaked, chuckling. "How about you?"

"Like I got ambushed by four Russians, and had to walk three miles without my cane," he replied in jest, mirth lighting his eyes, but Belle could tell that he was hiding the true extent of his pain.

"Well, then I think that—" Her smart retort died on her lips without warning, as the sharp memory of almost losing him flashed in her mind.

Gold frowned, immediately noticing her change in demeanor. "Belle?"

Belle up at him and tried to force a smile. "Yeah?" she asked, her voice cracking despite her clenched jaw.

"Hey…" he crooned, cupping her face. "What's wrong?"

_Too many things._ As much as she tried to stop them, her exhaustion and emotion prevailed, and tears welled in her eyes. "I sorry…I thought." She stopped, searching for the words that evaded her. "This wasn't supposed to happen. This plan…I screwed up. I'm sorry."

"What? No, this isn't—"

"No, I screwed up. This was my plan, my idea," Belle protested, her voice cracking, "I should've listened to you, and shouldn't have gone in there. I shouldn't have caused us to expose ourselves like that."

"No, it was the right call. Going in there to get those files—that was the right decision. It is what I would've done, too." He paused, looking over at her, his eyes pleading with her to understand.

"Then, why did you tell me it wasn't?"

"Because…because I was afraid, Belle. I was afraid that if I let you go in there alone, I would lose you."

"Too."

He blinked, frowning. "What?"

"Lose you, too," she said, repeating his words from earlier.

Gold looked like she had punched him, and sat up, the covers pooling in his lap. Belle sat up in turn, watching his eyes flicker up at her, and then immediately back down to his lap before he nodded. "Yes," he admitted, in a barely audible whisper. "I couldn't lose you, too."

Belle leaned over, anchoring him to her with her touch, and gently grabbed his hand, wanting to comfort him and pressure him any further. She knew about his son's death; she had seen the room that he ignored, with all of his son's possessions still arranged like he had never left. "It's okay," she whispered, watching his lips quiver, trying to form words. "You don't have to talk about it."

He looked over at her; a fine sheen of tears shown brightly in his eyes, which he quickly blinked away, as he darted his glance back towards their joined hands, rubbing his thumb along her joints. "I took him on a job."

"Your son?"

"Aye. Bae," he said, a whisper of a smile crossing his lips. "Bae was his name." He took another shuddering breath, nearly folding into himself as he tried to speak.

"I didn't even know he existed until he was a few months old, when I saw his mother again. It had been nearly a year since I had last seen her." He shrugged, chancing a glance up at Belle. "She was an asset that I had cultivated near Belfast. Once I knew about Bae, I tried to do the right thing and marry her, but it turned out that she didn't want him, or me, for that matter, and left him with to raise him by myself.

"I didn't know what to do. I was a NOC agent, in no position to be a father, but Bae was a wonderful, sweet boy. _Such_ a good boy. I bought the island, so I could keep him safe, and away from my life. It worked for a while. He loved it there, especially the sea, and the sailing. He would always talk about how we should sail around the world together in a big sailboat…" Gold trailed off, closing his eyes in pain.

Belle leaned closer, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, wanting to take his pain away from him. He shook his head, composing himself, seemingly determined not to stop.

"When I would go on missions," he quietly continued, "I would leave him with Goran, whom you met. He had a granddaughter that Bae was best friends with, and he would take them sailing, and watch over him until I would come home, days or weeks later. Bae would always love telling me of their adventures together. I missed a lot…a lot of his life growing up, but I tried…I tried my best." He splayed his hands to the side, shaking his head.

"As he got older, he started asking more questions about where I would go. I would simply tell him that I had to go away for business. I couldn't bear to tell him the truth—that his father was a killer. However, after one job, I forgot to clean all the blood off one of my shoes. Bae found it—and demanded answers from me. I tried to explain, but he was a smart boy, and quickly figured out the truth. He begged me to stop. At the time, I was so close to catching Koroleva, gods I was so close, so I lied, telling him that I had stopped.

"On my next job, he asked to come with me. I agreed—it was only supposed to be a quick trip after all. I was simply picking up a drop from an asset in Belarus. He was so excited to see the city, that I couldn't deny taking him, so I brought him along, thinking that I could pick up the drop, and then show my boy the city." He paused, sucking in another breath.

Belle waited for him to speak, but the words weren't coming to his lips. Feeling stricken with compassion, seeing one of the strongest people she had ever met in this much grief, and she curled her body towards his. As much as she didn't want to know, she had to ask. Taking a steadying breath herself, she leaned over, trying to catch his evading gaze. "What happened?"

"I lost him," he said, looking up at her with the look of pure sadness. Gold shook his head, as if clearing himself from the memory. "When I told you I have never gotten close to the Red Queen…" he paused again, nervously wetting his lips. "The drop was a setup. The envelope was laced with a tranquilizer, and I woke up blindfolded, gagged, and tied. She was there…with Bae. She wanted to know what I knew about her; demanded that I tell her everything, lest she kill Bae."

"Oh, god!"

"They tortured me. My knee," he gestured. "She taunted me, saying that I wouldn't be chasing her anymore."

Belle's eyes burned with unshed tears. "So, you know who she is?"

"Only her voice. I was completely blindfolded when she interrogated me. I could only hear her voice…and my boy's screams." He shut his eyes again.

Hot tears ran down Belle's face from the pain written across his face. She longed to stop him, to protect him from this painful memory, but she held back, allowing him to speak.

"I told them everything. Gave up everything I knew on Mills, agents working in the field, _everything_, and still they demanded more, beating me, crippling me. So I gave up all my assets, all my sources, _begged_ them to spare my boy, and they still…"

"Oh, Aiden…" Belle cried, pulled her arms around him, unable to hold back any more, knowing the rest, and wanting to spare him the words.

He immediately fell into her arms, clutching her desperately against him. "I lost him. I lost him, Belle," he sobbed into her hair.

Hot tears streamed down her face unabated, as her heart broke for him. She didn't know what to say, what words could even begin to mend his pain, so she simply held him, as years of unshared pain poured out into her shoulder.

"I can't lose you too."

He whispered it so quietly that Belle almost missed it, but the words made her heart ache once again. "You won't," she whispered back, pulling away to see his face. "You won't lose me."

Gold's expression was one of rare, and unguarded, showing her everything he was feeling. His doubt, hope, and fear were written plain across his face, as he swallowed hard, looking at her, not as a dangerous man, but as one that had been hurt and broken beyond what any person should ever have to ensure, and Belle's heart broke all over again for him.

Unable to voice what she was feeling, Belle gently took his face between her hands, and pressed a tender kiss to his lips, trying to convey what she felt.

At first, Gold's lips barely moved as she kissed him, but then as if his mind was suddenly cleared from a fog, his kisses grew more heated and desperate, to the point that it seemed that he was simply clinging to her.

Belle finally had to pull slightly away in order to catch her breath, but Gold continued his fervent kissing, nipping and sucking down her neck, worrying a spot at her pulse point that would surely leave a mark.

"Please, Belle," he pleaded, between kisses.

No more words were needed, and they both quickly removed the scant amounts of fabric clothing one another. Belle let him lead, sensing that he needed this, needed her.

Both of them gasped as he thrust into her in one, hard stroke. His pace soon became hard and desperate, and Belle could only cling to his back, wrapping her legs around him, as he dove into her. As she reached up kiss him again, she realized that their faces were wet, with her tears, or his, she couldn't tell, as stars crossed her field of vision, as she was pushed closer towards the precipice.

They didn't last long, with Gold letting out a cry as he came, clutching her with enough strength that would surely add more bruises to her sides, before he collapsed on top of her, pressing nonsensical kisses all along her cheek and collarbone.

When the weight of him finally became too uncomfortable for her bruised back, Belle slowly leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his temple, and gently nudged him off of her, immediately regaining her place at his side, resting her head on his shoulder.

For a long while, the only sound in the room was the faint sound of their breathing and the waves through the window.

"We will find her, Aiden," Belle whispered, tracing light patterns on his chest. She looked up to make sure he was listening. "We will find her, and kill her. I swear it."

He tried to smile and failed. "It's not your fight."

"Like hell it isn't!" Belle argued, startling Gold, and herself, with her anger. She pushed herself up to sit amongst the pillows. "Stop insisting that it isn't. We're in this together."

"But, you shouldn't…I never meant to drag you into this, to put you in this much danger, I—"

Belle softened. "Aiden," she interrupted him. "I know I don't look like much, but I'm much tougher than I look. I meant what I said before, when I promised that I would tell you when I couldn't handle it. I can, and I will, be able to handle anything we come up against. I'm not going to stop. We're not going to stop until we find her."

Gold pressed his lips together, his eyes drawn to the mean, purple bruise exposed on her left shoulder.

She followed his eyes, sighing. "That will fade…Look, I know that you're not used to working with someone, but try, please. Please trust me when I say that we're in this together."

"Why, Belle?"

"Because…because I care about you. And I'm not going to let you face this alone."

His words seemed to pain him, and he closed his eyes. "I couldn't bear it, if I lost you, too."

"You won't," Belle smiled, leaning up to kiss him, trying to reassure him as much as she could. "I couldn't bear it if I lose you, either."

Gold turned his head towards her, searching her face. "I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do," she whispered, settling herself firmer at his side.

_**KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!**_

Belle jumped at the loud banging on the door below. She looked to Gold, who was frowning at the noise.

"I'll get it," he said, rising out of bed.

"No, let me," Belle protested, not wanting him to have to walk any more stairs than necessary. Not wanting to be caught unawares, Belle checked the clip to the spare Glock on the counter and took the safety off. "You sure he won't kill us?"

"Yes," Gold promised. "It's not his style to do it this way, anyways."

Belle inwardly cringed at the implication that Gold knew which "style" Zamani preferred to discard his unwanted guests. "Okay. I'll be right back." She skipped down the stairs, pausing at the door to check the peephole. There was only one, very, well-dressed man standing at the door, so Belle transferred the gun to her right hand to conceal it, and opened the door.

The man immediately bowed. "Miss, Mr. Zamani sent me to inquire if there was anything that you, or Mr. Gold, needed. He also wanted me to ask if you would do him the honor of joining him, this evening, for dinner."

"Of course," she replied sweetly, sensing that "hell, no" wasn't an acceptable answer. "We would be honored."

"Very good, miss," the man replied. "Mr. Zamani will be dining tonight out on the terrace at seven. He also wanted to give you these," he said, holding out four, large bags.

"Ahh…thank you."

Zamani's man bowed. "Of course, miss. I shall inform Mr. Zamani of your intentions to dine with him."

With that, the man turned, and left, leaving Belle with four large bags at the door, and a fully loaded gun, still hidden behind the door.

"Who was that?" Gold asked from the top of the stairs.

Belle laughed, inspecting the contents of the bags, while she held them up to him. "Just an old man selling clothes." She chuckled again at absurdity of the whole situation.

Gold frowned, taking a step down towards her.

"Actually, darling," she continued, "it seems that we have dinner date tonight, with a terrorist."

…

Belle didn't know quite what to expect for their evening with Zamani, but it certainly wasn't this. Dressed like a successful businessman on a holiday, the middle-aged Iranian greeted them himself at his door, ushering them inside as if they were long lost friends, embracing each of them, and kissing Belle on the cheek.

"My friends," he greeted them. "I'm so happy that you were able to join me tonight."

"As are we," Gold replied. "We appreciate your hospitality, Hakim."

"It is but a simple gesture between two old friends, but please, introduce me to your companion."

"Hakim, this is—"

"Belle French," he finished, reaching for her hand to kiss it. "A pleasure."

Belle tried to school her features, not wanting to show her shock of Zamani calling her by her true name, even if Gold had warned her that he probably would've learned it. "Thank you for letting us stay in your home."

The attractive man waved his hand at her in dismissal. "As I said, I am simply glad to provide assistance. Please," he said, gesturing forwards, "Dinner awaits."

Belle lingered behind, as the two men engaged in conversation, taking note of Zamani's home, and ample security, stationed around the wide-open floor plan. Two suited men followed behind them, with what were sure to be Uzi's hidden behind their jackets.

If it wasn't for that ever-present reminder of whose house this was, Belle had to admit that Zamani had a very beautiful, and surprisingly modern, home. The interior, along with the furniture, was completely stark white, which contrasted nicely with the brilliant colors of the sunset and ocean, which every room was open to, with floor to ceiling glass walls.

Zamani escorted them out of the house, to his large backyard. The view was even more magnificent here, due to the infinity edge, making it seem as if the villa was floating off of the cliff.

"It's very beautiful here," Belle observed.

Zamani instantly turned around, showing her a brilliant smile. "I'm glad you like it, Ms. French. It is one of my favorite places to stay. Perhaps, your companion may have to take it off of my hands, in order to please his lady? What say you, old friend?"

Gold smirked, arranging himself in the chair beside Belle, opposite of Zamani. "Whatever my lady desires."

Belle blushed, despite herself.

"I apologize that I did not have any more clothing options for you, Ms. French. I will send my men out tomorrow to purchase anything you wish."

"There's no need," Belle smiled. He had already sent over nearly ten outfits, of various styles, to their guesthouse earlier for each of them. She had chosen to wear an elegant wrap dress, simply because of the look in Gold's eyes when she tried it on.

"I insist," the arms dealer pressed.

The fragrant smell of food suddenly filled the air, making Belle's mouth water. Three maids brought out a five trays of appetizers, placing them along the center of the table. Before she could grab one, Zamani leaned forward and placed a gun in the center of the table, spinning it so it was facing him.

"What is that for?" Belle asked, unable to contain herself.

Zamani simply smiled. "An amusement of mine, I confess. While I know your companion there, I don't know much about you, Ms. French, other than your clear knack for breaking into US embassies, so let's call this a way to get to know each other better. You see, I know you know who I am, and what I do, as I know who you are, so if we are both alive at the end of dinner, I believe I will be able to call you my new friend."

"And who do you think I am?"

"A lady far deadlier than what your beauty shows."

Belle heard Gold lightly snicker beside her. "Well, for a game, it's hardly fair with your men standing over there."

"Part of the game's excitement."

Belle simply stared at Zamani, ignoring Gold's foot crushing hers. Finally, after a long tense moment, she leaned forward, slowly reaching towards the gun, but then, moved her hand to the right, picking up a small hors d'oeuvre, instead. She promptly popped the small piece food it into her mouth, coyly raising her eyebrow at him.

"Oh, wherever did you find this one, Gold?" Zamani asked, his eyes shining with delight at Belle.

"I wouldn't concern yourself, Zamani. As you said, she's far too deadly for you," Gold replied flatly.

Zamani leaned back in his chair, continuing to stare at Belle. "Of that, I have no doubts." He took another swig of wine, and bite of his food. "Of course, I've found that most things in life are that way. So tell me, my friend, how's business? Anything that I should be concerned about?"

"At the moment…no."

"That pleases me to know, considering how I am hearing reports of a large manhunt for you two, throughout Greece, and the rest of Europe for that matter. I must say, leaving that man handcuffed to the bed was a nice touch."

Belle swung around toward Gold. "What?"

Gold's face never flinched, maintaining his mask of neutral passivity, as he shrugged at Zamani. "It's nothing to concern yourself with."

"And what do you think, Ms. French? Should I be concerned?"

"No."

Zamani chuckled, waving at his hands at his attendants to clear the plates for the next course. "You two are quite the pair. Quite the pair."

The rest of their four-course meal was spent with Gold and Zamani conversing amongst themselves on various topics. Belle had no idea what was considered appropriate "small talk" in this company, so she differed to Gold, adding her opinion, or comment when asked.

Finally, after the last course had been cleared, Zamani sat back in his chair, splaying his hands. "So, my friend, we have been discussing quite a lot, but when are you going to tell me what it is you _really _want from me?

"Malus," Gold replied without hesitation.

"Malus?" he frowned. "Who is this person?"

"Hakim, I'd rather dispense with the bullshit, and not fuck around. I'm not in the mood," Gold growled, his demeanor switching so fast that it even took Belle by surprise. "So how about you tell me what you know?"

"Hmm? Malus, you say?" Zamani asked, seemingly nonplussed over Gold's threatening attitude. "As far as I've heard, nothing concerning that name has anything to do with my services. I don't involve myself in matters such as those."

"Really?" Belle interjected, unable to hold her tongue at his blatant nonchalance of being the cause of thousands of people's deaths.

"Yes, really, Ms. French," he steely replied, holding her stare with a dark intensity, until he broke his gaze off with a chuckle. "Ahh…I believe we have a misunderstanding. You see, I'm well aware of your preconceived notions of me, but make no mistake—I'm simply a businessman. I simply provide goods for a premium price—that is all. I don't give a fuck what they do with it, as long as they pay me for it."

"Even if they're killing innocent people with your weapons?"

"My dear, people have been fighting wars since the dawn of time, and they aren't going to stop anytime soon. And as long as they continue to do so, I am going to be in the position to make sure they pay me for it."

"And if they decide to blow up the world with your 'merchandise'? You don't care about that?"

"We all die, Ms. French. If it comes to that, I simply prefer for mine occur here, surrounded by this, then," he said with a cruel smile, gesturing to his large home.

Gold scoffed. "That's enough bullshit, Zamani. What do you know about Malus?"

"Rumors, nothing more."

"And what would it take for you to tell us these rumors?"

Zamani turned his gaze to Belle, smiling predatorily. "I want what you stole."

"Excuse me?"

"The files, Ms. French, or else I will keep my information to myself."

"How do you even know what I stole?"

"It seems that the Greek police aren't exactly discreet in their investigation," Gold answered for him.

Zamani tipped his head to Gold. "As he said, I have many friends. And those friends talk."

"I'll give you one file."

"Ten."

"One. Final offer."

Belle could feel the tension amplify. "Do you really think that you're in the position to make demands?"

"Considering that I could destroy the files, right now? Yes. I do. I'll give you one file, no more."

"Deal."

"Do you have a computer?"

Zamani snapped his fingers, and one of the bodyguards left the patio, returning a minute later with a small tablet, placing it in front of Belle.

"Gloves, please," Belle asked, maintaining her gaze with Zamani. The guard immediately returned with in two leather gloves. "Thank you."

Both men's jaws dropped as Belle reached into her bra, producing the small, silver flash drive. She pushed it in the tablet's port, quickly dragging and copying the file that she had in mind, showing it to Gold who nodded his head in approval. Finished, she removed the drive, handing over the computer to Zamani.

His eyes immediately lit up in excitement.

"Is that to your satisfaction?"

Zamani smiled. "Quite. Very impressive, Ms. French. Now for my end of the bargain." He snapped his fingers, and a man was at his side. The bodyguard leaned over, and Zamani whispered instructions in his ear. He leaned back in his seat, as the man left. "It will be just a moment."

True to his word, the tall bodyguard returned a few minutes later with a piece of paper, which he handed to Gold.

Gold examined the paper, frowning. "What is this?"

"Your 'in' with our South African friend. Haak won't talk to you, as you know, without something he wants, and I assure you that he would do anything for the information on that piece of paper."

"And this is current?"

"As of this moment."

"And how will this help us in terms of Malus?" Belle interjected.

"Haak is one of many financing it."

"How do you know?"

Zamani shrugged. "Haak may be many things, but discreet isn't one of them, especially when he wants to brag."

"Do you know what they're planning?"

"As I said, I don't bother knowing the specifics. It's better for business, I found. However, nothing large has moved on my side of the business, so I assume that they mean to recoup their investment by other means. That piece of paper will get his attention, or at least, get him to answer your questions."

Gold tipped his head toward Zamani in thanks. "Then, I believe we have come to an agreement."

"Splendid," Zamani cheered, rising from the table, signaling the end of their dinner. "It is a pleasure doing business with you as always."

Gold grinned, looping his free arm around Belle's. "Likewise, Zamani. Thank you again for your hospitality."

"You may stay for as long as you wish. And let me know if you need my assistance in getting to Durban. You do still remember how to find the fellow?"

"Is he still residing in the same place?"

"I doubt he'll leave that godforsaken vessel anytime soon with as much trouble as he's caused with his little 'problem' down there."

The men snickered at their private joke, which Belle made a note to ask Gold about later. They slowly walked together towards the door, followed in turn by his security team.

Stopping by the door, Gold gave him a little bow. "Thank you again for a lovely evening, Zamani."

"It was my pleasure," he smiled back. "Oh, and Ms. French?"

Belle frowned, uncomfortable with his direct address.

Zamani pulled out a gun from the back of his waistband, and dangled it on his finger towards her. "I believe this means that we're friends now."

Belle's jaw dropped, and she quickly recovered.

He simply winked. "Keep the gun."

…

They left the next morning at dawn, at Belle's insistence. Even if Zamani was nothing if not a gracious host, albeit a slightly off-kilter, dangerous one, Belle didn't want to overstay their welcome, lest he demand more names off of her list. She didn't dare give him more than Mills' file.

During their drive to Komotini, Gold briefed her on Haak. As much as she didn't want to hear about Gold's nefarious dealings with the South African mercenary, she had held her tongue, as Gold spared her no details, telling her everything he knew of the man, as well as all of his past dealings with him.

It seemed that Haak came from an old family of diamond miners. Fabulously wealthy, he had the means to do anything he pleased, however, as Gold explained, he had gotten involved with the underbelly of African warlords and pirates at a young age. He had quickly taken over their territory himself, creating a sort of empire where he had his hand in nearly every aspect of the black market.

His recent undoing, though, was to use child soldiers as smugglers. It seemed that a small group of them had gone rogue, and had nearly successfully killed him no less than three times. After the third attempt, Haak had sequestered himself on his large yacht outside the Durban harbor where he held his base of operations. Haak had contacted Gold to help him in locating the leader of the lost boys, but each time, Gold had turned him down

The one main point about Haak that Gold stressed was that the mercenary was extremely paranoid, to the point of lunacy, thinking that he was going to be killed at any moment, thus their covers needed to be airtight. Any slight error and he would kill them on the spot, thinking that they were assassins.

It had taken Belle little over a week to come up with, and secure, an identity for herself. Gold didn't need one, as he had met with Haak in the past. She was good, but not great, at procuring such documents, and inserting herself in various articles and pictures, making make it appear as if she was a real person, so she took her time.

After she was sure that her identity was airtight, Gold had used another asset, in his nearly endless black book of contacts, to secure a private flight down to Durban. Belle had gotten little sleep during the eleven-hour flight, as she went over her cover and script again, and again, in her mind. Even Gold hadn't been able to distract her, much to his chagrin.

They arrived, according to plan, promptly at 5:00 p.m., so they would have enough time to arrive for their 6:00 p.m. meeting with Haak. Belle's nerves were instantly on edge, as she exited the G5, but it seemed that Gold's contact had bribed the customs official as well, and they waved them through, without so much as a glance.

"We won't be able to bring these with us," Gold explained, motioning to the guns they had brought in the backseat.

Belle swallowed, nodding. "Will they check my purse?"

"Why?"

"I can conceal some things in my compact, lipstick, and such."

Gold pulled out of the parking lot, turning left onto the street. "Will they be able to find it, if they take it away from you?"

"I don't think so. I've used it before with success."

"I can't emphasize enough how dangerous this man is, Belle. I've seen him shoot men point-blank because he 'felt' like they were planning to kill him."

Belle smiled, exhaling a nervous breath. "Okay. No purse, then."

He reached over, grabbing her hand, and gave it a little squeeze. "It will be fine. I'll protect you. Believe me, he'll do anything for the information on that piece of paper. If I have negotiate with my very life, I'll get you out of there."

"Don't say that."

"I will."

"Just…don't. It's unlucky."

"I don't believe in luck."

"Well, I do, so shut it. No talking about dying, or negotiating our lives, or any of that nonsense, before we go visit the schizophrenic warlord."

He gave her hand another squeeze. "Very well."

Belle squeezed his hand back, looking out the window, to survey the area. Before she knew it, they were at the harbor. Haak's contact had told Gold that they were to meet him at this empty, harbor parking lot. True to his word, a black sedan was already waiting for them, as they pulled in.

"I guess this is it."

"Don't worry," Gold said. "This is simply an exchange of information, nothing more. We'll be done in time for me to take you to dinner."

Belle smiled, warming at the idea, but the black car was an all too present reminder of the danger they were entering.

"You look very lovely, by the way," he said, exiting the car, and walking over to her side.

"Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself."

"It's not hard to with a beautiful woman on my arm."

"Ahh…so _that's_ why you brought me. I'm just here to dress you up."

Gold chuckled, shaking his head.

The black sedan's driver wordlessly exited his vehicle, and opened the rear door for them. Before they could enter, the man struck his hand out, producing two hoods. "Put these on."

_And so it begins._ Belle immediately complied, seeing little choice, and sought out Gold's hand again for comfort. He had warned her that this was most likely going to happen, so it helped her nerves, allowing her to focus keeping track of their turns.

It soon became clear to her that the driver was doing several "laps," rather than actually driving them a considerable distance. She was nearly ready to tell him that his little trick wasn't working, and that he should just take them to the damn boat, or wherever he was taking them, already, but as soon as the thought came to her mind, the car stopped.

The door beside her clicked open. "Keep them on," a new voice sternly directed.

Firm hands helped her from the car, and she was led down was she could only assume was a dock, but it was hard to feel the texture in her high heels.

"Watch your step."

"I can't see where to step," she replied back.

She was immediately swooped up in a strong pair of arms, and lowered down. The lapping water around her was clue enough that they had placed her in a boat, but what she was really concerned about was that she had lost contact with Gold.

"Gold?" she whispered, trying to feel out her surroundings with her hands.

Her question was met with silence, followed by the rumble of an engine starting. The loud diesel made it hopeless to try and call out again for him.

Thankfully, the boat ride was short and smooth. Without asking, she was once again picked up and lifted onto a hard floor. She tried to take off her hood, but a strong hand immediately stilled her. "Keep it on."

_Fine_, she huffed. It was a good thing that she wasn't prone to claustrophobia, because this was beginning to get ridiculous.

A sharp nudge on her back, pushed her forward, and she tentatively walked forward. She heard a click of door being opened in front of her, and she was held still, before she was nudged forward again, into what she presumed was inside the cabin. The carpet and cool, air-conditioning was evidence enough of that. She took only a half-dozen steps into the room before she was stopped again, and pressed down.

"Sit," a new voice commanded.

She felt out below her, feeling a large, leather chair and sat in it. "May I take this off?"

"No."

With that she heard a click of a door, and was met with silence.

"Gold?" she whispered.

Silence.

_Shit._

A whisper of a noise behind her made Belle instantly go alert. She could hear light footsteps walk up to her, pausing behind her chair.

Suddenly, a sharp prick of a knife touched her bare shoulder, and slowly ran around her front, trailing along her collarbone, and up her neck. Belle shivered, her hair standing on end, as the blade slowly made its way up her neck. She swallowed, but immediately stopped herself, feeling the sharp blade dig into her skin.

The blade pressed harder under her throat, lifting her head up. Belle complied, trying to get away from the uncomfortable touch.

Her hood was suddenly lifted from her head, and Belle jolted in shock. A dark haired man, with a scar running down the right side of his face, through a whitish, dead eyeball stared at her, inches from her face. Her eyes tried to see the blade, but he forced her chin up further.

"My, my, my, _what_ do we have here?" the man asked, taking a slight step back, as he tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinized her.

It was only then that Belle realized that he wasn't holding a blade at all. It was a hook.

* * *

**AN Update: Just wanted to put in a little note to say sorry for keeping you waiting so long for the next chapter. I've been knocked out with the flu for the past couple weeks and haven't been able to write. Thanks for your patience!**


	10. Chapter 10

_Beirut. Remember Beirut._

"Hmm? I'm waiting."

"_There is only one rule to being a NOC, Agent French—you abandon your cover, and you die. I don't care if you're being interrogated and tortured in a fucking Al-Qaeda training camp with goddamn Bin Laden standing three feet from you—you keep that fucking cover 'til the grave, because it is the only thing that is keeping you alive." _

Agent Paynter's grave warning, delivered to Belle before her first NOC mission in Beirut, echoed through her mind, as she tore her eyes away from the sharp hook, and looked up into her newest adversary's dark eyes.

With an aquiline nose, and slick, black hair, the middle-aged mercenary was far from the disgusting monster that Belle had pictured him as; rather, he was the picture of sophistication in his tan, perfectly tailored suit. She'd go so far as to describe him as handsome even. Although, the long scar, extending down across his face, and through his dead, white eyeball, did leave something to be desired.

Belle schooled her features, and did the one thing that every fiber of her being told her not to do—she smiled. "I believe that I'm a who, not a what, Mr. Haak."

Haak's nostrils flared in anger at her response, and he dug the point of his hook harder into her throat, his scarred face contorting with obvious displeasure over his failed intimidation.

Belle quietly chuckled and stood, ignoring the hook still placed under her throat to purposely enter his personal space, forcing him take a slight step back. "It is 'Haak,' is it not? Because, you should know, that if that isn't the case, and you're not Haak, I'll be severely disappointed, and I assure you, it won't be pleasant."

"For whom?" Haak asked, pushing his hook deeper into her sensitive flesh.

"Well, it certainly isn't going to be me."

"You're hardly in the position to make such bold threats, my dear."

"So you think," Belle countered, maintaining her air of confidence, despite the warm trickle of blood she felt running down her throat. "Well? Please don't keep me in suspense any longer."

The mercenary's lip curled, and for a brief second Belle thought that he was going to strike her with his hook, but then, his arm relaxed, and he slowly extended his other hand towards her. "Jameson Haak."

Belle grinned in smug satisfaction at his concession, and took the opportunity to bypass his offered hand, in favor of stealing his pocket square to clean up the blood on her neck. She took her time cleaning herself up, before finally taking his extended hand in hers and gripping it firmly. "Kathrin Schnact. I must say, Mr. Haak, I've never had an introduction, such at that before. It makes me start to question the many good things that I've heard about you from my associate. Speaking of which—where is Mr. Gold? I would much rather have this conversation with him present."

"Well, I would rather…not," Haak said, flashing her a patronizingly smile, before he promptly turned away, and strode back towards a large, ebony wood desk on the far end of the room, which stood on a continuous row of elephant tusks.

The brief reprieve from his intense scrutiny gave Belle a second to evaluate the room, which was, in fact, a surprisingly spacious study for a yacht, albeit a strangely decorated one. The most disconcerting thing about it, apart from the decor, was the lack of windows and doors; the only visible exits were blocked by heavily armored guards, standing in front of each of the doors, giving her little choice for an escape route. _Fantastic_, Belle sighed to herself.

With little choice, she followed Haak across the room, and into the "office," which was separated from the salon by a low, decorative wall, and sat down in the large, leather chair in front of the Haak's desk. Her new seat gave her a better view of the dozens, upon dozens, of stuffed crocodile heads and broken clocks, displayed on the wall behind him; a strange tableau that continued around the room. Maintaining her aura of calm confidence, Belle crossed her legs, and relaxed back into the chair's thick cushions, casually running her fingers along the sharp, crocodile teeth that trimmed the armrest.

"So, what do you have for me?" Haak asked. "Your associate promised that it was something that I would be interested in, but wouldn't specify what 'it' was. For your sake, I hope that you've brought me something worthwhile."

"I assure you that it is. However, for your sake, you better produce Gold now, or—"

"Or what?"

Belle lifted her chin, and glared back at him in defiance. "Mr. Haak, I've been more than accommodating in acquiescing to the many demands that you've requested of me. I have come here alone, with only Mr. Gold, as specified. Now, I assure you, if you don't produce Gold, in this room, unharmed, within the next few minutes, not only will I not be conducting any business with you now, or ever, in the future, you'll have a bigger problem on your hands than trying to find this Petyr Pann character."

Haak immediately leapt to his feet, nearly jumping clear over the desk in his attempt to get closer to her. "_What_ do you just say?" he snarled, his eyes boring into Belle's.

"Oh, so, _now_ I have your attention?"

Belle flinched, barely moving her hand away in time, before Haak's hook came slamming down on into her armrest, embedding itself in the leather. "Tell me! What do you know about Pann? Tell me now, or you die!"

"So dramatic," Belle sighed, before striking out herself to grab hold of his hook, pulling him nearly over the desk, so his face only was inches from her own. "Now, Mr. Haak, let's get something clear between us before we proceed further, hmm? You don't threaten me. You don't get to make demands of me. And if you ever, _ever_, try to kill me, or one of my employees, you'll be dead before my body hits the ground. Understand? Now, even though I may have not brought anyone aboard your ship with me, don't fool yourself into thinking that you're safe from any repercussions of harming me. By the time I'm finished with you, you'll regret ever having met me. Now, do we understand each other?" she finished, holding his stare with a steely determination.

A slight release of tension in Haak's arm was answer enough, and she released him abruptly.

Haak sat back in his chair and pressed a button on the phone on his desk, while maintaining his hard stare at Belle. "Please bring Mr. Gold to my quarters," he said, releasing the button without another word. "Now, Ms. Schnact, tell me what you know about Petyr Pann."

"Not until I've seen Gold."

"This better be worth my while, Ms. Schnact, because you should know that no one gets away with trying to threaten me either, no matter how confident they may appear to be."

"Well, I do hope that is the case, Mr. Haak, considering what I am about to propose to you," Belle replied, shrugging nonchalantly. She knew that she was riding the edge, talking to him this way, but she had no choice. Haak wouldn't accept anyone of a lesser caliber making any sort of demands upon him, so she had to do what was necessary in order to get Gold back. _Remember Beirut. Remember Beirut. Remember Beirut_, she repeated, willing herself to maintain an aura of confidence while she waited for Gold.

Less than a minute later, a "whoosh" sounded behind her, and Belle glanced back, over her shoulder, nearly sighing in relief as she saw Gold escorted through the door by two guards. She quickly turned back around, making sure she kept her focus on Haak, and not on Gold; she couldn't risk her expression betraying her true feelings, especially since her heart was already thumping wildly in her chest, knowing that he was alive and seemingly unharmed.

"Your associate, as promised, Ms. Schnact."

"Haak, it's been too long," Gold calmly greeted him, striding forward towards Belle's chair, only to be quickly intercepted by the guards, and not-to-subtly made to stand along the wall.

Haak tipped his head in indifference at Gold's greeting. "Indeed."

"Thank you, Mr. Haak," Belle said, with a smile. "I believe we can finally get down to business, now. Do you have a piece of paper and a pen that I may borrow?"

"More demands?"

"This should be one of the last."

She thought that he was about to deny her request, but then, he opened a drawer to his left, and produced a pad of paper, along with an ivory pen.

Belle made short work of writing down the series of numbers she had memorized, and handed the sheet back to him.

"What is this?"

"A gift for your hospitality. Forgive me, but I had to make sure that you were a man worth dealing with first."

"And you believe that I am such a man?" Haak asked, his lip twitching with amusement as he regarded her.

Belle cocked her own head to mimic his movements. "I do. Am I wrong in my assessment?"

"No. Although, I've never been given a gift for meeting someone before."

"Hmm, that's a shame. You clearly need to associate yourself with better people."

"Or, maybe I should introduce you to some of my people," Haak growled, his anger suddenly on edge. "Get you better acquainted with the likes of them."

Belle saw Gold take a step forward out of the corner of her eye. "Forgive me. It was a quip, nothing more. My intention was not to offend you. The gift is simply a family custom of mine."

"And what family is that, may I ask? I've noticed that your name and accent don't exactly match up, to say the least."

She shrugged, sighing. "An unfortunate anomaly that happens when one's family must leave their rightful country."

Haak arched the scarred eyebrow above his dead eye. "Hmm." Finally, after a tense moment, he relaxed, and looked down at the paper. "So what is this gift that you have presented me with?" he asked with clear distaste.

"The GPS tracking coordinates for a certain crocodile that you seemed to have had a problem locating."

He scoffed, tossing the piece of paper aside. "That's impossible."

"In what way?"

"You're to have me believe that you've located the very animal that I've spent the better part of two years trying to find?"

Belle gave a pointed look at the crocodile heads mounted on the walls. "And rather unsuccessfully, I see."

"You're saying that you found it?"

"Well, not myself, of course," she laughed. "I have people to do such things."

Haak waved his hook at her and sneered. "Impossible."

"If you say," she paused dramatically, holding his glare. "Fine. Suit yourself. I'll tell my men to deactivate the tracking device, and try to find another eighteen-foot croc with a…what was inside of it, Gold?"

"A Piaget," Gold immediately answered, resting both of his hands on his cane's handle.

"Ah, yes, a Piaget. How could I have forgotten? Made of all diamonds, correct? Quite an impressive timepiece to get lost inside an animal; although, quite a lucky one—wouldn't you agree?"

For the first time, Haak looked thrown by her words. "In what way?"

"Well, your particular watch is nearly indestructible, considering it constructed basically entirely diamonds, thus the acids in the crocodile's stomach can't corrode it. Your particular model also has a GPS signal, ever so slight, that it emits throughout its lifetime. Really, it was just a matter of finding a croc of the right size, and then scanning it, from what I hear. I'm rather surprised that you didn't think of it yourself, considering that you seem to be not only a connoisseur of collecting crocodiles, but also of clocks."

Haak's expression quickly transformed to one as predatory and as cold as the animals' mounted behind him. "That's not the reason for the clocks."

Belle shrugged, not wanting to hear more on the matter. Judging by his look, there was probably something twisted and demented about the collection, and she had no need to hear about it. "As I said, it's a gift. You may do whatever you want with the beast. It's alive and waiting for you to collect it at that location there."

"You're not going to ask me about them?"

She blinked, tilting her head in confusion at his question.

"My clocks," he said, with a sly, knowing smile.

"No, I believe that we have more important things to discuss. Gold? If you would, please."

Gold walked over, freeing himself from his guard, and handed a slip of paper over Belle's shoulder, which she took without a glance. She opened it, feigning examining it, and then promptly handed it over to Haak, placing it slightly out of his reach.

Haak looked at the envelope with outright distaste. "What is that?"

"My proposal."

He regarded her for a long moment, before darting his hook forward to pierce the slip of paper with its sharp tip. _**BAM! **_

Belle flinched in her seat at the loud noise, earning a smirk from Haak, much to her dismay.

"What am I to do with this?" he asked, slowly unfolding the slip of paper and reading it.

"Eliminate them—discreetly, and with no ties to either of us. Mr. Gold assures me that this is well within your purview."

Haak scoffed. "Did he now? Why didn't you have him eliminate these men?"

"Mr. Gold works for me now. As I said, the reason I am here right now is because of my need for discretion. Now, are those names a problem?"

"It depends on what you know about Pann."

"You mean, apart from his current whereabouts?" she asked, coyly smiling. "Eliminate those names, and I will give you Pann's location."

"Location first."

"That's not how this works, Mr. Haak. Perform the task I've asked of you, and I'll provide you with the location. It's quite simple. Now, do we have an agreement?"

"There are two names on this piece of paper."

"And I am giving you the location of over three dozen of your lost men—more than a fair price, or would you prefer another form of payment?"

Haak pressed his chair back, and stood. "What assurances do I have that you have really found him, considering that _that_ man, standing behind you, has told me on several occasions that Pann is impossible to locate."

"Well, then, I suppose it's a good thing that I didn't ask him to find Pann myself," she countered. Holding his gaze, while remaining seated, Belle crossed her leg and reached up into dress' high slit, removing a small SD card taped to her inner thigh. Haak's eyes fixated on the flash drive as she rearranged her dress back into place, finally handing it over to him. "These were taken three hours ago."

He sat back down in his chair, and opened the screen of a small laptop, sitting on the desk, and immediately inserted the card into the drive. Belle watched as his eyes comically widened and his breathing grew labored as he furiously clicked through the files.

"That is Pann, is it not?"

Haak slammed the laptop shut and quickly rounded the corner. "_How_ did you get these pictures? _Who_ found him for you?"

"That is for me to know," she coolly replied, trying her best not to react to his sudden manic tone and wild look in his eyes. "However, should you do what I have requested of you, you will soon his location, in addition to those photos."

"And if he moved?"

"That won't be a problem," she vaguely deflected. A long beat passed, and Belle stood, wanting to end this encounter quickly. "Do we have an agreement, then?"

Haak's lips pulled into a barely passable smile. "I believe we do."

"Good. Should this work out, I'll look forward to doing business with you in the future, Mr. Haak."

"As will, I," Haak purred, running the tip of his hook along her arm. "Before you go, though, there's something I must show you."

"Forgive me, but I really must be going. I have another appointment."

Haak chuckled. "Not anymore, Ms. Schnact. Please," he said, gesturing towards the salon. "I insist. Or, would you like your Mr. Gold to pay for your rudeness?"

Belle whipped her head around in Gold's direction. A guard was holding a gun to the back of his head, while a second guard, by the door, was pointing his firearm towards his chest. _Fuck. _Gold might be able to take down one gunman, but not two from that angle. Belle spun back around, unable to drop her cover to make a play for either Haak, or his men. Their lives depended on her playing her part now. "I believe I already told you, Mr. Haak, what would happen if either of us were harmed. I'd release him if I were you."

"Would you now?" He looked over her shoulder at his men. "Shoot him if he moves," he commanded, quickly turning his attention back to Belle.

"That would be most unwise."

Haak ignored her threat. "Shall we?" he asked with a smug smile, directing her towards a pair of chairs in the adjourning salon.

Belle held her ground, glaring at him; the picture of rightful indignation. "Now, Mr. Haak, I came here to discuss business with you. I offered you a proposition, and a payment, both of which you accepted. I came here assured that you were a man that prided himself on his good form. Now, if that is truly the case, then I believe our business is done here. Release my employee at once."

"Or, what?" he sneered.

"Or, you keep on searching for that measly little teenager of yours, and face the consequences of going against me. Don't assume that you'll be able to torture it out of us, either," she added, seeing the knowing look in his eye. "I've put several protocols in place to assure that that you won't succeed in that. Unlike you, I don't rely on simply putting bags over people's heads to assure my security," she finished, keeping her appearance of steely calmness, despite her pounding heart.

"Answer a question for me, first."

"What is that?"

"Why have I never heard of you?"

"Probably for the same reason that I'd never heard of you, until Gold told me about you."

Haak recoiled, offended. "Everyone has heard about me."

"Not anyone who matters."

"And you're someone who matters?"

"One of them, yes."

Haak looked her up and down, smirking as he did so, and then turned away, walking briskly towards the other side of the room. Belle took the opportunity to sneak a glance over at Gold, but his expression was tense and guarded, betraying nothing.

"Have you been to Orapa before, Ms. Schnact?"

The question brought her up short, and momentarily threw her, as she frantically tried to remember all of the details of her cover. "No, I haven't."

"I grew up there. My family owned the mine—largest in all of Botswana," he said. "We had a large plantation in the game park and I would often go hunting there. When I was twelve years old, I got separated from my escort, while I was hunting out in the bush." He paused, turning around to reveal a large, elaborately carved, wooden box in his hands, and walked back towards her. "The more I tried to find my way back, the more disoriented I became. By sundown, I was forced to make camp by myself, after I realized that a rescue wasn't coming."

He paused his story to place the box by Belle's feet. "That night I heard all sorts of horrible, frightening sounds—animals hunting and stalking one another, the terrified wails of an animal getting its limbs torn off and eaten alive. And after each fight, each kill there would be a terrible silence. A long, deathly quiet where the brush would still, holding its breath, waiting for the next victim.

"I stayed awake all night, listening to that, waiting for my turn. Unlike other pitiful people, I wasn't afraid. I knew death was coming for me, so I held still, waiting for it to happen, but dawn broke, and I was able to try to find my way back." He grinned, as if lost in his own memory. "When I finally arrived back to our plantation, my father asked me what happened, and I told him everything. And do you know what he said to me?"

Belle's eyes flicked to the box. "No."

"He said that I had been judged. That, unlike my guards, nature knew that I was honest, and that I meant no harm coming into its place, and thus, I was spared. My guards, however, had no such innocent intentions. They had abandoned me, left me to die and be torn apart by animals, so my father judged them, instead. He let me feed them to the very beasts they abandoned me to, piece by piece."

_Lovely._ "It sounds like you were very lucky," she said weakly, not knowing what else to say to that story.

Before she could speak further, Haak walked over and snatched Gold's cane away from him. "You won't be needing this any longer," he said, turning back around to face Belle. He sighed. "No, Ms. Schnact, I wasn't lucky—I was judged, as were my guards, and as you will be now." With a quick flick of the cane's handle, Haak opened the large case, exposing a large, 8-foot, creamy tan snake, which instantly reared up, and exposed its pitch, black mouth and fangs.

Belle stifled a gasp and froze. "What are you doing, Mr. Haak?" she slowly asked, not daring to move, lest she provide a target for the snake.

His wild eyes flicked to hers, gleaming. "Judging you. If you are honest about whom you say you are, then you'll be safe. It knows."

"Haak, this isn't necessary," Gold tensely interjected. "She's who she says she is. I'll put my life on it."

The mercenary reeled around. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Haak—"

Haak growled, swinging around, jerking the snake away from Belle with the cane. "Shut him up! This is between Ms. Schnact and myself."

Gold's guard punched him hard in the kidneys, causing him to fall down to his knees, and then viciously kicked him in his side again. He rolled over with a quiet groan, clutching his side. It took everything in Belle's power not to go over and kill the guard herself for hurting him. She took a step forward to go assist, but the snake quickly slithered towards her, with its black tongue darting in and out, tasting the air. She instantly froze, angry for forgetting herself.

"It's time to be judged," Haak manically announced.

"Mr. Haak, I doubt that a snake is a good judge of character."

He hooked the snake back again, right before it could be within striking distance of her. It writhed, squirming away from the cane's touch. "Shoot him—"

"No!" Belle shouted, stopping herself as she started to make a move towards Haak.

Haak turned, grinning, as he slowly lifted the snake up mid-air, its belly suspended by the cane's handle, and brought it closer to her. "Then, stand judgment."

"I have nothing to hide," she confidently replied, keeping her eyes on the snake at all times, while trying to keep her voice calm and even. "You know who I am. I've given you ample time to check my background."

"Yes, but that was before you mentioned Peytr Pann. No one has been able to find him, yet you come here today, and say that you've found him. And not only that—you claim to have found that bloody crocodile he fed my hand to! A person that I've never even heard of before, claiming that they've found my foremost opponent and his beast. Forgive me, if I don't believe you, Ms. Schnact."

"If it is evidence, or proof of my sincerity, that you require, I can provide it for you, Mr. Haak."

"What? No more threats?" he snickered, mocking her. "Sit." He pushed the snake towards her, causing it to strike out at her. Belle had no choice but to immediately sit down.

"Oh, I think we can safely say that there will be severe repercussions for your actions," she steely replied, glaring at the mercenary.

His lip curled in amusement. "I think you're bluffing."

"Your death." Even if she was indeed bluffing—and she was—that wasn't to say that she wasn't sincere in her intention to kill the man. He was good as dead in her mind.

"We'll see. First, some questions." He gently laid the snake down on the ground and directed it towards Belle, with a suggestive push of the cane. The mamba immediately darted off in her direction, only to be pulled back when it reached striking distance. A deadly push and pull that Belle could only sit and watch.

"I have nothing to hide."

"Good, then let's begin." He placed the snake by her chair, letting it slither about. Belle lifted both of her feet off of the ground, holding them in place. "Tell me what you know about Petyr Pann."

Belle had to compose herself, as the snake passed under her feet. "No more than what I've been told, and have given you. I don't pay attention to such small matters."

He picked up the snake, lifting it off the ground and placing it directly in her lap. Belle froze, watching the deadly serpent dart its head around, tasting the air. "Tell the truth, Ms. Schnact."

"That is the truth. I was given the location information by a contact, who also supplies your child soldiers."

"Tell me their name."

"No." The mamba began moving its way up her body, causing Belle to stop breathing.

"You'd rather die, than tell me your contact's name?"

Belle blinked, barely nodding; the snake was at her throat.

Haak walked forward. "What was that? Speak up."

"No," she whispered, trying to barely move as she spoke.

The snake, thankfully, ignored the vibration as its tongue flicked her pulse point, tasting her skin, before making its around the back of her neck, wrapping itself around her like a deadly necklace.

"Hmm…fine. I will accept that answer, simply because I appreciate good form."

_Good form? What the–_ Belle's thought was rendered mute as she felt the snake tickle her ear, and make its way back down the front of her torso.

"Are you working for Pann?"

"No," Belle breathed.

"Who do you work for, then? Why haven't I ever heard of you?"

The answer to those questions would require more words than Belle dared uttering, especially with the snake's fangs only a whisper away from a fatal strike, so she remained silent.

"Tell me, Ms. Schnact. The honest do not fear the snake's bite."

_No, only the rational do_. "I am from an old family," she started, keeping her voice quiet and even. "My great-grandfather was the Führer's Minister of Finance. After the war, he was exiled to Australia. He acquired a large fortune, and after he died, I became the sole beneficiary of his estate, taking back his true name and vowing to continue his work and preserve his legacy."

"But, everyone that I talked to said that Schnact never had any heirs to inherit."

"They are misinformed."

"Your parents?"

"Dead."

"That's unfortunate."

"For them."

Haak snickered. "Good form. But, you didn't answer my questions. Who do you work for, and why haven't I heard of you?"

"I work for no one. As for why you have not heard of me, it is probably the very reason that I have not heard of you. We come from different circles. I work on a larger scale than you could ever imagine. As for what I do, you've done nothing to earn that information." Belle swallowed, lifting her head in defiance, while her heart pounded in her chest, not knowing if she had gone too far.

"Tell me of Pann."

"I have nothing to tell. I have a location, which I have promised to you, images, which I have given to you, and a vague history of your previous dealings with him from Mr. Gold. I had no further interest to learn anything about him, other than the necessary information to conduct our—" she stopped, as the snake quickly moved back up towards her neck.

"Our…?"

"Deal," she finished quietly, trying to will the snake away from her.

Thankfully, the snake seemed to be telepathic, and turned to move back down towards the ground, but Haak lifted the cane, and nudged the snake back upwards. "One more question."

"What?" Belle spit out, watching the snake ignore Haak's suggestion. _Stop touching it!_ she screamed in her mind, as he prodded it again; the tan snake turned and hissed at the cane, darting towards the side of her chair.

"Are you here to kill me?"

She didn't answer; she was too focused on watching the snake wind its way back down the chair, finally reaching the floor. Belle slowly lifted her feet again, allowing it to glide underneath her heels. A long-forgotten memory from her childhood suddenly surfaced in her mind, appearing as clear as the day it happened.

"_How do you do that?" _

"_Do what?" _

"_Catch them." _

"_Oh, my brave little girl, if you are ever close enough to catch one of these, you are to call for me at once. Do not do it yourself. Promise me."_

"_Okay, I promise, Papa. Can I watch you catch it, then?" _

"_Only if you go inside and watch from the window."_

The memory of her father gave her an impulsive idea, and before she could think further, she slammed her foot on top of the snake's body, pinning it inches behind its head.

The mamba's head whipped side-to-side in frustration, trying to bite her, but she quickly reached down, and felt her way along the back of the snake, until she found the thin bones of its jaw and pinched. _Hard._

With the snake secure, she picked it up with a smile, exposing its black mouth towards Haak; its body writhed below, curling in every direction to try and find purchase. "What did you say?" she asked, standing up and taking a confident stride towards the mercenary, feeling damn near delirious from her overflow of adrenaline.

Haak frowned, his delighted expression transforming into one of shock. "You…"

"I, _what_?" she spat, thrusting the snake in his direction.

"You can't kill me," he weakly protested, taking another step back while motioning to his guards, who now had their guns pointed at her.

"I've seen this snake strike. You make one move that I don't like, and I'll toss it right on you—you'll be dead before they get a shot off. However, lucky for you, I'm not here to kill you, Mr. Haak; I'm here to complete a business transaction. Eliminate those names on the piece of paper, and in return, I will give you Pann's location. Now its your turn to answer my question—have I been judged fairly?"

Haak looked utterly bewildered and at a loss of what to do.

Belle took the opportunity to walk over to Gold's guard, who still had his boot pressed on Gold's head, pinning him to the floor. "Release him," she breathed, holding the snake threateningly near the guard's neck.

The man didn't flinch; instead, he flicked his eyes to Haak behind her. Haak must have made a given a signal, because the man immediately picked his foot off of Gold. However, his weapon didn't waver, and he kept it pointed at Gold's head.

Without thinking, she stepped over Gold, and moved in front of the gun. "Drop it." The man's eyes were hard, and unbending, but then after a threatening move with the snake, he twirled the gun, handing it over to her, handle first.

Belle took it with her spare hand, and gave it to Gold. Holding the mamba's jaws away from him, she reached out and helped him up off of the floor. "Cane," she demanded to Haak, gesturing with her head towards Gold.

The mercenary walked over with a pleased gleam in his eyes, handing over the cane to Gold while looking only at Belle.

"Are we done here?" Belle asked, gripping the snake tighter. Her hands were starting to become dangerously clammy with sweat. She felt Gold walk over and stand behind her; anger radiated from him, and Belle momentarily pondered whom it was directed towards.

"Oh, no," Haak smiled, his eyes suddenly bright and excited. "You can't leave now—not after that performance. You must stay. I need to introduce you to someone."

"Another member of your exotic animal collection?"

"Not exactly, but don't worry, Ms. Schnact, it seems that I won't be adding your clock to the wall today." He reached behind her hand, and replaced her hand with his on the snake's neck. Before she could react, Haak turned and pressed the mamba's black fangs into Gold's guard's neck.

The man screamed, jumping back, clutching the bloody wound.

"Good employees are so hard to find these days. Wouldn't you agree, Ms. Schnact?" he asked darkly, as the man suddenly collapsed beside him. "Now, shall we?"

…

Belle followed Haak wordlessly through the salon, trying to fight off the adrenaline still running thorough her veins, leaving her jittery. She had yet to get herself to relax, even after Haak had secured the deadly serpent back inside its box, and he had returned to his more preferable, composed state.

A soft touch on her back jolted her, and she jerked around, relaxing immediately when she saw it was only Gold. His face, one that she had become able to read fairly well, was frustratingly blank, yet she knew that by his touch alone he was checking in with her, so she gave him a faint nod, turning back around as if nothing happened.

This had been agreed to upon coming here—that she would take the lead, and Gold would act as her employee. However, despite her success in dealing with Haak's little "surprise," she was suddenly feeling out of her depth. Ops missions, such as this, usually took months of planning, and would have at least have two, or three, contingency plans in case anything went wrong. Now, however, she was working without a safety net, and it was becoming very clear that one slip, or one mistake on her part, would trigger Haak to kill her, or Gold, without hesitation. Her only hope was that Haak's desire to find Pann clouded his judgment.

Her hand slyly reached back, and grabbed a hold of Gold's, giving it a squeeze. He squeezed hard back; a simple gesture that restored her confidence. All they had to do was to get through this introduction, and hope that whomever they were meeting wouldn't blow their covers, so they could get off this boat alive. _Yep, no sweat,_ Belle laughed to herself, wanting nothing more than to dive off the side of the walkway, and make for the shore. Really, if it weren't for Gold's leg, she would've tried. Durban's lights were temptingly close.

The ship seemed to go on forever, as Belle followed Haak down the walkway that encircled the yacht. All of the sudden, Haak stopped in front of one of the black glass panels, letting out a loud sigh of annoyance; almost immediately, one of the guards, that had been following in the rear, ran forward and opened the sliding glass door.

"This way," Haak said, becoming them inside.

The lavishly decorated interior was much like Haak's office, with its walls covered in clocks and different game animal heads. It seemed that Haak had no shortage of trophies from his kills, both man and beast.

She paused, taking another moment to stare at his display of death, to allow Gold to slide ahead of her, letting Haak lead the way up a winding staircase up to another level. In this position, at least, Belle could subtly lend a steadying hand to Gold, who was clearly having problems with his leg. A surge of anger towards Haak bubbled up within her at the sight of Gold trying to cover up another wince. Once off the ship, they would have to make sure that the damn guard hadn't done any permanent damage.

The second level opened up to a wide, expansive sitting room, far larger than many of the nicest estates that Belle had been in, let alone on a ship. Large, oil landscapes, depicting scenes of the African savannah, decorated the walls. Belle was taken aback that Haak would have something so lovely after all of the morbid curiosities below, but then, after stepping closer to examine them, she saw that each of the paintings was actually a depiction of some sort of graphic death scene—a crocodile tearing the throat out of a wildebeest, two lions ripping apart a gazelle. _Why am I even surprised? _Belle mused.

"Do you like them?"

Belle whirled around at the sound of Haak's voice. "Ah, yes. They're quite beautiful…who is the artist?"

Haak grinned. "They're my own work."

_Of course._ "You have quite a talent."

"I've found more than one use for this," he said, gesturing with his hook. "Come—this way. I don't want to keep my guests waiting any longer."

"Certainly," Belle agreed, falling into step with Gold.

Haak led them through the room, and into, yet another, living room. Unlike the last one, though, this one was occupied.

Two men, of Middle-eastern descent, clothed in traditional black thobes, and red ghutras, stood to greet them. A study of opposites, the man to the right was tall—standing well over six-and-a-half feet, and holding a gold, snake-capped cane, while his companion was a short, heavy-set man, with beady black eyes and thick eyebrows.

It took everything in Belle's considerable willpower to maintain her stoic, steely face, and not flinch in shock at the sight of these men here. She knew these men. Everyone worth half their salt in the intelligence community knew these men. Hell, she had been assigned to try and _kill_ these men several times.

The taller man was Jafar bin Abdulaziz Al-Jishi, one of King Abdullah's chief advisors, and long suspected by the intelligence community to have ties to Al-Qaeda, while also having plans to usurp the king in order to gain a higher position of power with the king's successor. His companion was Iago bin Saud Mohammed, second in command to Saudi Arabian National Guard. Why they would be in Haak's company sent shivers down Belle's spine. _If they recognize me..._ She risked a side-glance to Gold, who responded with a light touch to the back of her hand.

"Sheikhs, please pardon my delay. Business took a little longer than I anticipated, although it allowed me to be introduced to a new business partner." Haak turned, and extended his arm towards Belle. "Sheikh Jafar Abdulaziz, Sheik Iago Saud, may I present the delightful, Ms. Schnact, and her associate, Mr. Gold. I asked them to join us for dinner."

_Dinner?_ Belle gave a slight bow to the men, slipping into her cover like a shield. "As-salāmu `alaykumu."

"Wa`alayki s-salām," Jafar replied, his deep voice smoothly annunciating the traditional reply. "You speak Arabic."

She smiled, tilting her head. "A little."

The tall, nearly emaciated, sheikh titled his head, his green eyes piercing hers with a intense scrutiny that made Belle's skin crawl. "You seem familiar."

Belle's heart stopped, but she quickly recovered and smiled. "Perhaps we've come across each other. I often frequent your part of the world, Sheikh Jafar Abdulaziz."

He tilted his head. "You knew who I was already. You recognized me when you walked into the room," he said, his quiet voice dripping with menace.

"I did," Belle admitted, not wanting to lie. "It would be amiss for me to not recognize such an important man, as yourself."

This seemed to please him, and his glare relaxed.

Iago, however, seemed to share no such regard for her and continued to stare in open contempt at her. Suddenly, his head turned, and he narrowed his beady eyes towards Gold. "He's CIA."

All at once, the familiar click of weapons sounded, echoing against the walls, as the guards, who had accompanied them from below, pointed their weapons at Gold.

Belle glared, giving a brief glance back at the guards, before she walked right up to Iago, knowing all measure of decorum to the wind. "He _was_ CIA," she growled, meeting the man's glare. "He's no longer with them—hasn't been for many years—so I would appreciate you not throwing such damning accusations around, when it is clear that you're operating on laughably out-of-date intelligence, or I'll bring up your current associations, Sheikh Iago Saud."

The tension seemed to suck all of the air out of the room, with all parties' flicking their eyes to one another. Belle's eyes, however, didn't waver from Iago's.

"Oh, for godssakes, put down your weapons—you work for me, you bloody fools!" Haak growled behind her. "I've dealt with him in the past. They're both who they say they are. Neither of you have anything to worry."

"If you want us to leave, so be it," Belle added, half hoping that they would demand just that. "I have no business with you here, and I will not stand by and allow you to shame Mr. Gold, or myself, with such baseless accusations. Have I made myself clear?"

"I believe you have, Ms…"

Jafar's threatening voice made Belle turn away from the short commander. "Schnact," she corrected. "Kathrin Schnact."

"Ms. Schnact," he repeated slowly, enunciating each syllable.

"Yes, yes, yes, we're all good and acquainted with each other now. Promise not to shoot each other's heads off? I just had to get this room re-carpeted last week, and I'd prefer not to have to do it again so soon," Haak jovially asked, pausing to reach into his pocket, revealing an eyeball-sized diamond that he placed on the tip of his hook. "Hmm. Agreed? Good. Now, can we continue this conversation at dinner? I need a drink." Without another word, Haak strode off, leaving his guests to follow behind.

Belle paused, letting the two men walk in front of her, and turned around to face one of the guards, who was watching her. "Excuse me, is there a ladies' room, nearby?"

Gold stopped and turned around, looking at her in question. "Would you like me to accompany you?"

"No. I'll be with you shortly. I just need to wash my hands before dinner after holding that snake—make my excuses to Haak." Gold gave her a long, suspicious look, but said nothing more, and walked away in the direction of the group. Belle couldn't help but cringe at his stiff gate. _Someone_ was going to pay for that. She quickly composed herself though, and turned back towards the guard. "So? Is there?"

The suited man nodded, gesturing her forward.

It turned out that the bathroom was only a short walk away. Once inside, she locked the door, and quickly scanned the area for cameras under the pretense of fixing her hair.

"Oh, shoot," she said, for the sake of any listening devices, as she stepped on her dress' long train. She took the opportunity to "fix" her dress, and bend over to look at all of the floorboards, as well as under the cabinets. It seemed clear. Thankfully, Haak seemed to be under some false delusion that he was safe here. She hadn't been lying when she had told him about his faulty security; for a man of his stature, it was downright laughable.

For this task, though, she had to be as careful as possible. Even though she had promised Gold not to bring anything aboard in her purse, that didn't mean that she hadn't smuggled anything aboard in other places. With Jafar now in play, she knew that she had to make a move, if not for their sake, then for the overall security of the US—Jafar plus Haak was a downright terrifying combination, and her gut was telling her that something big was going on.

Even if she was wrong, Belle rationalized, Christmas would still come early to Charming. Her teammate had spent the majority of his career tracking down, and eliminating, Al-Qaeda operatives. The thought that she could still help her colleagues energized her, and reaffirmed her decision to take this risk. The only thing she was worried about was Gold's reaction. They hadn't discussed, or agreed, to any of this.

Without a moment to lose—she could hear the guard shuffling outside—Belle quickly decided to go ahead with her ad hoc plan, and ungracefully sat down on the toilet, pulling out the tampon-sized container from between her legs. _Girl's gotta do, what a girl's gotta do_, she thought, breaking apart the disposable pieces, revealing the contents inside—a small cylinder containing five, small, rice-sized remote trackers, and three translucent audio transmitters. All of the devices, which Belle had acquired through Gold's contact and had encrypted herself, streamed their recordings via the closest Wi-Fi connection the subject was standing nearest to, and then uploaded the content onto a remote server.

Flushing the container components down the toilet, she secured the surveillance equipment to her leg with the tape that she had left on from the SD card, and washed her hands, finally exiting room to find the guard just where she expected him—three inches from the door.

He gave her a curt nod, and then led her down the hallway, and up another set of stairs. The guard stepped aside, opening a grand, mahogany door, to the right of the landing, which revealed a large dining room, with the group seated at a long table on the far side of the room. Their muffled conversation immediately ceased and they all turned to face her.

"Ahh, Ms. Schnact, please," Haak called from across the room, offering her a place by his side.

Belle walked over, taking note of the alternating lion and rhino heads mounted on the walls, separated by antique guns, which had small, gold plaques of dates below them. She sighed, not sure why she was expecting anything different.

Gold stood, and pulled out her chair, which was to Haak's right. The mercenary had naturally seated himself at the head of the table, with Jafar and Iago sitting on the opposite side; an arrangement, Belle mused, which Iago must have planned so he would be able to glare at her some more. The portly man hadn't stopped sneering since she had put him in his place.

"We were just discussing what I should do with the crocodile that you procured for me," Haak explained.

Belle pulled her seat closer to the table, and smiled. "Well, surely you're not going to kill it right away."

Her remark clearly threw him, and he frowned, his face quickly dissolving into a patronizing laugh. "Well, what would you suggest instead?"

"Capture it. Cage it. And then, do what you've promised to do for me, so you can feed that little menace that took your hand to it," she flatly replied.

Haak's jaw dropped and his eyes sparkled with delight, as he leaned close enough for Belle to feel his breath on her face. "Oh, Ms. Schnact…you…are…_fascinating_," he purred. "Why haven't we done business together before?"

Too many sarcastic responses entered Belle's mind, so she simply shrugged, taking a sip of the red wine in front of her.

Before Haak could ask any other questions, five, perfectly clad waiters came out to present them with a trio of short shanks, filled with marrow. Unlike Belle, Haak wasn't as skeptical as she of the course, and began to suck the marrow out from the bones with aplomb.

"Don't worry, Ms. Schnact," Haak crooned. "It's bad form to poison one's new business acquaintances."

Belle chuckled, and then glanced over to Gold for reassurance. Not wanting to make a scene, she took a tentative taste from the bone.

"Bontebok."

"What?"

"It's bontebok marrow, a common antelope from these parts, taken from a fattened fawn—makes it nice and flavorful."

Suddenly, Belle was in danger of losing her appetite. "It's…lovely."

Her host seemed pleased, and turned his attention back to Gold. "I must say, Gold, that it took me by surprise when you told me that you were working for someone. What does she have on you?"

Gold tilted his head in amusement. "Made me an deal that I couldn't refuse."

"She did, did she? And what, may I ask, did she offer that was too enticing to pass up, since I recall asking you numerous times to join my crew."

"Well, that was your problem, Mr. Haak," Belle interjected. "I didn't _ask_."

Haak snickered. "Good form, Ms. Schnact. Good form. And what of your business? You had a rather impressive thing going on there, Gold."

"I bought it from him," Belle smugly replied, tipping her glass towards Haak. "It's mine now."

"Is that true?"

"As I said, she made me an offer that I couldn't refuse."

Haak snickered to himself. "Maybe I should have you negotiate for me next time, Ms. Schnact."

"Now, why would I ever want to do that? No, Mr. Haak, I think you and your snake will continue do quite well without my assistance."

She grinned, pretending to share Haak's amusement over their banter, while also taking note of their curiously quiet companions on the other side of the table. Iago was still clearly furious with her, and had forsaken eating in favor of glaring at her.

"Is there a problem, Sheikh Iago bin Saud?"

Belle nearly spit out her drink at Gold's cold remark.

The general turned his head toward him, his lip curling in disgust. "No."

"Then, I would suggest you to find another target of your misplaced anger besides, Ms. Schnact."

"Jafar, get your little parrot under control will you?" Haak asked, the irritation clear in his voice. "He's disturbing my guests."

_Oh, fuck_, Belle thought, taking a sip of water to hide her face. Even though the glass of wine was tempting, she needed a clear head for where this conversation seemed to be heading. The clear familiarity between the two men, though, made her ears perk up at the implications.

"_What the fuck do you think you're doing, you little idiot? You have one task, and I'd suggest you remember what that is, or else I will kill you myself. I will deal with—"_ Jafar quickly stopped his quiet dressing down of his employee midsentence, as if he suddenly remembered that Belle could speak Arabic.

Belle took another sip, schooling her face, trying to feign that she hadn't understood.

The adviser slightly bowed his head at Gold. "My apologies for my companion's rudeness."

Gold narrowed his eyes, baring his teeth at the man. "Don't let it happen again," he whispered, this tone so threateningly that even Belle's hairs stood on end.

The men stared each other down, until Belle gave a slight cough. "How is his Majesty?" Belle brightly asked, eager to break the tension.

Jafar's snake-like eyes instantly locked on hers. "He is well."

"Good to hear. Please pass on my continued wishes for his good health."

"I will. You know His Majesty?"

Belle shrugged. "Not personally. I've worked with several of his sons though." _Trying to kill you_, she added to herself, with a smile.

"Which ones?"

"Prince Khaled, Prince Mishaal, as well as Prince Mutaib."

"So you're well-acquainted with the family."

"You could say that."

"Do you often do business with the royal family?"

"Not often. When it suits my purposes."

"And what _are_ your purposes?"

"To make money, of course."

"Doing what exactly?"

Belle chuckled, shaking her head at the sheikh. "Ahh, you see, for me to answer that question, Sheikh, then I will require you to answer the same question." She paused, taking a sip of wine, and felt a pointed hit of Gold's foot against her own. "So…what is your purpose? Certainly, not a political mission here. Not with this company."

"I smaak this stukkend!" Haak declared with a throaty laugh. "I believe she's soeking you, Sheikh!"

Jafar ignored Haak's boisterous antics, in favor of steely glaring at Belle.

Belle simply stared back, not backing down. She needed him rattled enough to discuss her once she was gone. Otherwise, there was no point to tag him with a transmitter. "Hmm?" she asked, getting another harsher kick from Gold against her shin, which she reciprocated back.

"You are quite confident, Ms. Schnact."

She lifted her eyebrow, smirking, betraying nothing. She'd played this game before. She may be out of her depth, but that didn't mean that she wasn't able to sense that she had an advantage. Jafar couldn't seem to be able to decide if she was a true equal or not; Belle's only choice was to plow ahead, and not give him time to stop and think.

"Ms. Schnact," Gold growled, under his breath, in warning.

Haak chuckled to himself, watching them out of the corner of her eye. "Tread carefully, Sheikh. She's one cold-blooded German."

A flicker of confusion, brief enough that Belle wouldn't have noticed had she not been staring at him, crossed his gaunt features. "I thought that you were Australian."

"No," she answered flatly. "I'm not."

"Then, what are you? German, as he says?"

She sighed, smiling, watching him take the bait even more. "I'm not one to maintain allegiance to any country. I've found that it makes things simpler, and more profitable certainly, by keeping politics out of it."

"Out of what?"

"In order for me to answer that, you'll have to answer my question, first."

Gold was damn near breaking her toe, but Belle held her ground. She knew Jafar wouldn't answer her question.

Their long moment of tense silence was suddenly broken by waiters bringing their main course. Belle couldn't help but become momentarily distracted by the display in front of her.

"Ahh, dinner," Haak cheerfully announced. "I believe that you will see the humor in this dish, Ms. Schnact. Pure coincidence, I assure you."

_I bet_, Belle thought, watching the four waiters lower a full-sized python onto the table, arranged on a bed of greens, with its mouth propped open with a dagger, and rubies placed on its eyes. Once safely on the table, the main waiter took the dagger out of the snake's mouth and slit the body nose-to-tail, exposing its stuffing. It took everything in Belle's power not to gag.

"African rock python, stuffed with moughrabiya braised lamb shank, with smoked potato puree, asparagus, and braising jus," the waiter announced, cutting potions from the snake and placing it on each of their plates, taking care to cut Haak's meat for him. "Enjoy," he murmured, deeply bowing before he left the room.

Belle waited for Gold to take his first bite before trying the stuffed snake, which was surprisingly good, despite its horrific appearance.

"Enjoying the snake?"

She glanced up, noting that Haak was looking directly at her. "Very much so, thank you."

"Ms. Schnact was quite impressive earlier this evening with a different snake. Picked up my mamba with her bare hands," he said to the sheikhs, before turning back towards her. "I must say though…Gold? The mamba? Perhaps, you're simply inclined towards handling cold-blooded things?"

"Perhaps," she smiled, nodding her head in agreement. "It certainly explains why I'm enjoying my present company."

Haak's eyes shown with glee at her jest, and he reached forward, picking up the rock-sized rubies off the snake's eyes, and held them expectantly above Belle's hand.

She flipped her palm open, allowing the two, heavy gems to fall into her hand. "What is this?"

"A gift," Haak smirked. "Consider it my apology for not believing you earlier."

"That isn't necessary," she said, shaking her head. "I would've done far worse to you."

"And that's why we're going to get along so well, Ms. Schnact," he crooned, placing his hand on hers to close it around the stones.

A waiter saved Belle from Haak's hungry look by leaning between them to refill her glass. Three more waiters followed a short time later to clear their plates and snake from the table. The break allowed Belle to cross her legs and palm one of the recording tabs into her hand. With Haak initiating contact, there wasn't a better opportunity to subtly tag him.

_Shit!_ Belle flinched as she felt her remaining devices fall to the floor. Her heart began to pound in her chest, and she slipped her foot out of one of her heels to prod the area for the devices. She could not, _could not_, leave these behind.

"Ms. Schnact, my friends here, are staying as my guests for the weekend," Haak said, gesturing with his hooked hand. "Would you care to indulge me by staying a little bit longer? I feel that we could learn much from each other."

_Yes!_ Belle found her small bundle, and curled her toes around it.

"Unfortunately, we must be leaving as soon as possible," Gold quickly answered for her. "We have a previous engagement that we must be attending."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Ms. Schnact, certainly you could send your man ahead, and stay behind?"

"No, yes, I'm sorry, but Mr. Gold is correct," Belle smiled, trying to subtly roll the transmitters up her leg, while keeping her expression neutral enough in order not to draw suspicion_. So close…_ "I have a business colleague that I was supposed to meet this evening and, unfortunately, I can't put off my visit any longer. As you know, these delicate business matters must be handled in person. However…" she whispered, leaning forward, placing her hand on Haak's wrist, "I can see myself making a return trip very soon."

"Do you now?"

"I do."

"Well, then," Haak said, brightly, "I'll try not to be too disappointed that our evening must be cut short."

Belle lifted her glass in salute. "To my quick return, then."

Haak clinked his glass with hers, at the same moment that Belle finally deposited the small cylinder in her lap. "Do you need any assistance returning to the airport?"

"No," Gold gruffly interjected. "We don't."

"Very well," Haak said, pushing his chair back from the table.

The sheikhs, along with Belle and Gold, stood as well; Haak's dismissal from the meal made clear.

With no pockets or sleeves, Belle was forced to hold the remaining transmitters cupped in the palm of her hand, pinned behind the two rubies. It was reckless, but she had no other option. She had to get these men tagged—_now_. Getting close enough, especially to Jafar though, was going to be a challenge. Her mind whirled with scenarios, as she felt time slipping away.

All of the men, with the exception of Haak, stepped aside, allowing her to exit the room ahead of them, much to Belle's chagrin. Once out of the dining room, she stopped and pretended to wait for Gold, who was bringing up the rear.

_One. Two._ Belle grinned as her hand brushed against Jafar's long thobe, successfully attaching both the audio and tracking devices. She quickly tried to reset for Iago, but could only attach the audio transmitter; the tracking device slipped from her fingers and hit the floor by her feet. _Shit._

She quickly jabbed her heel onto the small device. She could only hope that she had destroyed it, and that the guards, stationed to her right, by the dining room door, hadn't noticed.

Gold must have noticed her distress, because he caught her eye, shooting her a concerned glance.

Belle blinked, slightly shaking her head in reply, and followed him down the stairs. She palmed her hand again, trying to count how many she had left—only one tracker, and one audio left. _Fuck_, she thought, _where did the other tracker go?_

She had no time to worry about it though; she still needed to tag Haak. With her target in view, Belle shifted behind Gold, using him as an impromptu shield while she transferred her two devices to her other hand, sticking them to the back of her palm.

The three men waited patiently below for them to descend the stairs. As soon as Belle reached the last step, Haak extended his hand, which she gratefully accepted. However, instead of releasing her, once she stepped off the stairs, he pulled her closer to his chest. "Stay."

"I can't," Belle said.

"I could make you."

"But you won't," she reminded him, stepping closer to whisper in his ear. "Remember our agreement, Mr. Haak, if you want the location of Pann. Succeed in that, and then I may be tempted to return and stay." She stepped back with a smile, her hand now free of its devices. "Plus," she added louder, "I wouldn't want to distract you three from your scheming."

Iago's eyes immediately narrowed at her. _Not much of a poker face on that one._

"We must be going, Ms. Schnact," Gold tensely remarked behind her.

"You may take the helicopter back," Haak said, gesturing to the tinted glass wall behind her. "It's faster."

"Thank you, Mr. Haak."

"Jameson," he said, lifting her hand to his lips, pressing a light kiss on it.

"Thank you…Jameson," she slyly corrected herself, openly flirting with him. "Best of luck with your plan. I'll be taking note of your results," she said, flicking her eyes to each of the men, making her meaning clear. "Sheikh Jafar bin Abdulaz, Sheikh Iago bin Saud, ma`a as-salāma. Until next time, Jameson." After one last nod, she turned and walked away, letting the guard stationed by the door, open it for her. Outside, a large Sikorsky was gearing up on the landing pad, its long blades causing the wind to whip her hair and dress wildly about her.

Belle buckled herself in, slipping the rubies into Gold's pocket, beside her. She gave his hand a little squeeze, but he didn't reciprocate her gesture, instead, he glanced over, giving her a long, hard look. _Great, he's angry with me._ Before she could think on it further, a guard entered the cabin, and handed both of them black hoods. _This again?_

"Security measure, ma'am," he explained.

Belle placed the hood over her head without complaint, allowing herself a broad smile in triumph. _Yes, security measure, indeed._

…

The helicopter landed with a hard thump, jarring Belle in her seat. Without warning, a huge gust of air blew into the cabin, along with the piercingly loud whine of the turbine that made Belle grimace and cover her ears. Before she could fully cover them though, a firm hand unceremoniously yanked her from her seat, and pressed her covered head down, while guiding her through the cabin. Unsure about where to step, Belle hesitated, only to have rough hands encircle her waist, and lower her down onto the hard ground.

Abruptly, Belle's hood was yanked off her head, revealing the same sparsely lit parking lot that they had left their car in. She looked back at the helicopter, and watched as Gold was also roughly pulled out of the cabin, causing him to stubble. Belle was instantly at his side, lending him her arm for support, as the guard pulled off his hood.

"Cane," he ordered, holding out his hand to the guard.

The man ducked underneath the blades once again, returning with Gold's cane, which he threw in his hand.

Task complete, the two suited-men gave them a curt nod, and turned back towards the waiting helicopter.

"Wait!" Belle called out.

The men stopped mid-stride.

"Start it," she commanded, pointing to the car. When they hesitated, she lifted her eyebrow in annoyance. "Do I need to call Mr. Haak and tell him that his employees are compromising my safety? I doubt that he'll be amused."

The guards' faces twitched in annoyance. Finally, one motioned to the other to walk back. With obvious displeasure, the large man snatched the keys away from Gold, and slipped into the car in silence. The car started up immediately, without incident.

"Thank you," she said, ignoring the offensive remark that the guard said as the walked by. She turned around, back towards Gold, but he was already walking away, his jaw set in a hard, thin line.

He headed directly towards the driver's side door, and shot Belle a furious look before he slipped into the car, slamming the door behind him.

_Okay…_Belle warily opened the passenger door, and got in. She had barely gotten the door closed, before Gold twisted around in his seat to face her, his eyes full of rage.

"What the hell were you—"

Belle lunged forward, clamping her hand over his mouth, and pointed to her ears, motioning around the car. "_Listening," _she mouthed.

He shook his head and muttered to himself, as he forcefully pulled the car into drive.

An uncomfortable silence enveloped the small sedan's cabin. Belle hated it, but she couldn't risk a conversation, let alone the argument, which was apparently coming, when it was likely that they were being tracked or recorded. It wasn't Haak she was worried about—it was Jafar. As easy as it had been for her to attach the devices to the two men, they could have just have easily done it to them without Belle noticing, especially since their car had been out of their supervision for so long. The only solution was to ditch the car, and their clothes, as soon as possible.

Belle soon found herself becoming infuriated with Gold's attitude, so much so, that she had to turn away to look out the window, in an effort to distract herself until they arrived at the airport.

A suspicious car, in her passenger mirror, caught her attention before she could think further. She leaned closer; there were definitely two cars tailing them, and neither of them were doing a good job concealing themselves amongst the scant traffic. The lead car passed under a traffic light, revealing two men inside, and an unmistakable flicker of a metal gun, confirming her suspicions. _Shit._

"We have a tail."

Gold's eyes flicked upwards, but he maintained his speed.

"White sedan, two back, and the blue, coupe-thing behind them, one lane over."

He remained silent.

"Do you see them?" she asked worriedly. The white car was starting to make a move forward.

"I wasn't aware that I was allowed to speak."

Belle growled, rolling her eyes. "Oh, for chrissakes—it doesn't matter now. They've already found us!"

"Which 'they,' dearie?" he challenged, quickly speeding up, and slipping behind a large truck. He then immediately slowed down, causing the white, lead car to come closer to them.

Belle blinked, his remark catching her off guard. Begrudgingly, she had to concede that despite the callousness of his remark, Gold was right. She had jumped to the conclusion that it was Haak or Jafar tracking them; the oversight made her feel embarrassed and angry.

It only took a few more tense seconds of waiting for the white car to make another move, before her inner "backseat driver" began to twitch, wanting to tell Gold what to do. The white car was just _waiting _there—they either needed to make a move, or eliminate the target, preferably the latter.

Gold suddenly swerved, as if sensing her anxious tension, and pulled into a dark alleyway, immediately killing the lights.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

His face tightened into a hard, unreadable expression, as he continued to stare forward.

"We're just going to hide here until they find us?"

"Well, I'm not certainly going to get us in a fight that we cannot win."

Belle jerked back, incensed by his sarcastic comment. "And you're saying that I did?"

"Yes!" he cried, suddenly turning towards her. "Christ, what were you _thinking_? You were almost killed in there!"

Her hands curled in anger. "I was_ thinking _that—"

Light suddenly flooded the car's cabin. _**CRASH!**_

Belle instinctively ducked as their rear window fractured into a thousand pieces.

"Get down!" Gold yelled, pushing her head further down with his free arm, as he floored the car down the alley. Two more shots rang out, taking out Belle's passenger side mirror.

"Looks like you got your wish, dearie," he growled, lifting his hips off of the seat, and pulling out the gun she had given him on the boat.

"_Enough!" _Belle yelled, shooting him a scathing look, before she ducked around her seat, trying to see where their pursuers were, as Gold shot out of the alleyway and onto the darkened street.

It didn't take her long to spot them. Both cars suddenly shot out of the adjacent alleyway behind them, and split, speeding up on either side of their car. A shooter, along with his large black weapon, appeared out of the white car's passenger window.

Before she could point this out to Gold, he floored the gas, throwing her backwards, pinning her in her seat. The car's engine roared as the RPM shot higher and higher, as they swerved around a tight corner. Cars scattered around them, as Gold rocketed through a hairpin tight space between two cars, causing Belle to brace herself against the door handle.

Caught unawares by their sudden maneuver, the white car reacted a half-second too late, and within seconds they were ten car lengths behind.

Gold shifted the car into fourth, pressing it even faster, and sending them flying over a small pothole sheet they drove past.

Belle over, and braced herself, as she saw where he was headed, only to be swung in the opposite direction, falling across Gold's lap, as he suddenly slammed on the brakes, and pulled the car into a sharp, sliding u-turn, gunning it forward again. She pushed herself back into her seat, and saw a hint of a smile pull at the corner of his mouth. _What an ass!_ He was _enjoying _doing this to her! Not caring in the least bit that she was only going to add to his bruises that he had already endured this evening, she smacked him hard on his arm.

"Hold on," he murmured.

She barely had time to brace herself again, before he whipped the car around again, crossing the entire street, pulling them right behind the white car.

Belle looked to him in question, and saw in his eyes all the answer she needed, and she rolled down her window, taking the safety off the gun.

Gold floored the car again, bringing them side-by-side with the car.

_**BANG! BANG! **_

The white car's windows instantly shattered, and blood splattered the interior of the car.

Belle narrowed her eyes once more, spotting the dead driver's partner, who was aiming his weapon towards her, and shot once more. _**BANG! **_The man slumped over, and disappeared from her view, as the car continued onwards, crashing into a light pole, with a horrifically, loud noise. She gave a quick glance behind them. "Where'd the other car go?"

_**CRASH! **_Glass shattered all around them as their front windshield exploded. More shots erupted, as Belle was suddenly thrown forward in her seat, from Gold flooring the car in reverse.

She righted herself and looked up. The blue car was directly in front of them, and coming fast.

"Go! Go! Go!" Belle yelled, watching the car get closer. They were still too far away for her to risk wasting any bullets; she only had seven more left in the chamber.

_**BANG! BANG!**_

"Fuck!" Gold cursed as a cloud of white smoke billowed in front of them.

Belle's mind whirled. "Stop!"

"Belle—"

"Stop the car!" she yelled out again, putting her safety on. Reacting purely on her instinct and training, Belle opened the door and jumped out, keeping the gun clutched tight to her chest.

She hit the ground hard, causing a shocking pain to shoot down her side, but she ignored it, rolling to a stop. She instantly jumped up into a shooting crouch, clicking off the safety. The blue car was already swerving towards her, in order to avoid a collision course with Gold.

Time seemed to slow down as she watched the car careen towards her. She heard shots, but kept her focus, narrowing her eyes at the dark figures within.  
_**  
BANG! BANG!...BANG! BANG!**_

Belle rolled away to the side, and jumped up, sprinting towards a small doorstep nearby. She jumped behind the small pillar and crouched down, barely avoiding the blow back of the explosion from the blue car colliding with the building next to her.

She peered around, gun up; black smoke obscured her view, as she tried to look for survivors. Keeping low, with one hand on her gun, and her other comically holding up her long dress, she crept forward.

A black figure shifted near the car.

_**BANG! BANG!**_

The figure slumped to the ground. Belle walked closer towards the car. A rank, distinctive smell of burning flesh answered her question as to the fate of the driver; the passenger was slumped by the car outside, shot twice in the chest, and once in the forehead.

Satisfied, Belle covered her mouth from the smoke and walked towards their abandoned car, smoking in the middle of the street. "Gold?" she called out, growing concerned, noticing that the car was empty.

"French," his familiar, angry voice answered behind her.

Belle spun around; Gold was standing against the building behind her, cane in hand. She ran up to him, stumbling slightly in her high heels. "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

He barely returned her embrace, pulling away to pointedly look at her arms. He looked down at her, in the dim light, and scanned her face. "You…" He closed his eyes and sighed, shaking his head as he turned away.

"Aiden—"

He held up a hand. "Later, just..." He stopped, shaking his head again. "We need to get out of here, and get you help."

"I—…oh," Belle murmured, looking down at her side in shock. It was completely covered in road rash, large, red areas, where her skin had been taken clear off by hitting the asphalt, nearly tearing her dress completely off her in the process. She hadn't felt a thing—in fact, she still couldn't feel a thing. She looked back at the wreckage behind them. "Did you get my purse?"

"Your purse?"

"Yes. It was in the front seat."

"Leave it."

"But it—"

Gold whirled around. "I said, leave it. There's nothing in there—"

Belle was already gone before he could finish though, sprinting back to the car. It only took her a brief moment—less time than they would have spent arguing about it—for her to retrieve the bag. She had to get that bag; their fake passports, money, and their disposable cell phones were in there. At this late hour, it could mean their survival. "Got it."

Gold gave her a brief, piercing glare, and then turned, limping away from her.

"Aiden—?"

He spun around. "_What?"_

"It had our passports in it," she tried to explain. "I had to get it. We couldn't just leave it behin—"

"Would you like me to leave?"

"What?" Belle stepped back, startled by his question, and flat tone.

"Do you want me to leave? Because, it seems as if I'm only slowing you down."

"No! What could…how could you say that? That's—" She shook her head. "We need to get out of here," she concluded, grabbing his arm to pull him away, but he stood grounded in place. "Aiden—"

His eyes held hers, in a challenging stare. "Do you?"

Belle scoffed, holding up her hand in protest, not believing that he was trying to pick a fight here and now. "We don't have time for this. We have to get out of here now. If those men come back—"

"Answer the question, Belle!"

Enraged for him even considering such as thing, she jerked his arm as hard as she could, forcing him to follow her into the cover of the darkened alleyway. "Of course not! Why are you even asking me that? It's ridiculous!"

Gold stepped closer, until he was mere inches from her face. "Because, I've just spent the entire evening watching you nearly kill yourself, over and over, because you've paid absolutely _no_ attention to what I've said, or told you. So, if you would like to do this by yourself, by all means, tell me, and I'll go, because I will not stand by and watch you kill yourself."

"Kill myself? Wha—I've been trying to _save_ us! I've been trying to save us all night! How could you think—" Her mouth gaped, as angry tears filled her eyes, which she quickly blinked away. "I can't do this now. We…we need to get out of here, and go somewhere safe; and then, if you want to hash this out, we will, but we n_eed _to get out of here, now."

He remained silent, staring at her.

"Say something, dammit!"

Gold's lips were on hers before she could say another word, angry and demanding. As soon as the kiss began, it was over, and he pulled away, leaving Belle gasping for air. "_Don't _do it again," he whispered, his voice shaking with emotion. "Let's go."

Belle stood still, watching him turn to walk away, still dumbstruck by his sudden mood swing. However, now was not the time to restart this fight, so she followed him down the darkened street, wincing as she tried to keep up with Gold's pace. "Where are we going?"

"We need to find somewhere to get you help, and then get you somewhere safe."

"Don't worry about me. It looks worse, than it is." Gold's stern, warning look made her quickly amend her answer. "Just…let's get somewhere safe first, and then we can worry about my road rash, okay? What about the plane?"

"Without knowing who those men were working for…" He shook his head, dismissing the thought.

"What about your contact?"

He shrugged. "Could be compromised, or bribed off by whoever sent them. I can't be sure. As I said, until we know who _doesn't_ want us dead, we're on our own."

_Well, there's one person._ An idea sprang to Belle's mind, but she quickly dismissed it. _It would be…no, I can't possibly ask—_

"What?"

Belle looked over, startled.

"Care to fill me in on your plans?"

"I don't…it's not a good idea," she admitted, wary of pushing him too far.

"Dearie, we're running out of options and time, if you have an idea—"

"Call me dearie, _one_ more time," she growled in irritation, finding that her anger not quite abated. "I have an idea, but…"

Gold gestured for her to continue her thought.

Belle looked around at the dark night, quickly considered their options, and then, finally sighed in resignation, pulling out the disposable cell from her purse. She looked down at it, her fingers hovering over the keys. _Here goes nothing_, she thought, dialing the emergency number that she knew from memory, pressing "send."

…

"Mr. Harrison wished for me to tell you that he will be arriving tomorrow, or well I suppose it's now this evening, and that you are to ask for anything you desire."

Belle smiled at the kindly groundskeeper. "We won't be needing anything further, right now. Thank you for everything, Mr. Sibale."

"Of course. I will leave you, then," the man said, reciprocating her smile as he bowed, leaving her alone in Jefferson's large hunting lodge.

Belle had to admit that as much as she didn't want to involve Jefferson any further in their predicament, the man's resources made him particularly inclined to help in espionage work. Shortly after their phone call ended, Jefferson had arranged for an armored car, along her requested change of clothes, to take them to a small airport, on the off skirts of the city. From there, they flew three hours to Gaborone, where they were transferred to another prop plane, which took them directly to Jefferson's family's estate, which was located in the Gumeti Reserve, in northern Tanzania, bordering the Serengeti, according to Mr. Sibale.

As far as she could tell, they hadn't been followed or tracked. Jefferson, in their brief conversation, had expressed his express intent for that to not happen, and it had seemed that every precaution had been taken to ensure their anonymity and security.

Gold, however, was predictably not as impressed with Jefferson's help. Well, as far as Belle could tell. The man had barely spoken two words to her ever since they had gotten on the plane. Seven hours later, and he was still wearing his anger like a cloak.

Tired, and not wanting to prolong this confrontation with Gold that she knew was forthcoming any longer, Belle sought him out within the lodge. The predawn sky barely lit the rooms, but it provided her with enough light to maneuver. Even though she was semi-assured of their safety, her old habits died hard, and she kept the lights off. She wasn't about to illuminate the entire house, thus providing an easy target, in order to make it easier to find her sulking lover.

Her task quickly proved easier said than done. After nearly a half-hour of searching through the vast estate, which truly belonged in some luxury home magazine, rather than in the middle of the Serengeti, she had yet to find him.

Finally, after nearly giving up her search, in favor of just going to the bedroom to sleep, she found him outside, on the corner of the landscaped property, standing next to a large, acacia tree, and staring out into the limitless landscape before them, the pink, pre-dawn sky hinting at the bright sunrise to come.

She walked up to stand beside him, waiting for him to acknowledge her, but he didn't; instead, he remained still, looking intently outwards towards the horizon.

"Are you coming inside?"

He remained silent.

"Fine," she sighed, exhausted, and spent. "I'm going inside to sleep. You can join me if you want." She turned to walk away, when suddenly an unwelcome flicker of irritation towards his behavior shot through her, making her turn back around. "You know, you're eventually going to have to tell me why you're still so angry at me."

"Oh, will I?" he said quietly, his sarcasm clearly evident.

"If you want _me_ to stay, then, yes, you will," she shot back, staring at his back. Finally, once it became clear that he wasn't going to respond even to that threat, she turned in resignation to walk back towards the house.

"Why?"

He spoke so quietly that Belle almost missed it. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she walked back into the shade of the tree's thick branches, to stand before him once again. "Why, what?"

"Why did you do it?" he murmured, still unable to meet her gaze.

"Do what?" she asked tiredly. It seemed that he had a litany of grievances against her; she wanted to know which one they were discussing now.

"Why did you do what you did?" he said, finally glancing over at her. "Haak, the sheikhs, that damn snake…why, Belle?"

She shrugged, unapologetic. "My cover was an ex-Nazi's great-granddaughter, with a clear intention to carry on 'her family's legacy; I didn't think that meek and polite were going to cut it, if they were going to believe our story."

"But being rash, and foolish, would?" he countered, anger lacing his steely voice. "How many times did I warn you that if you pushed him—"

"He was about to slit my throat when they took me on board," she said, matter-of-factly, pausing to watch her words sink in. "He took of my hood, and before I could do anything, he dug his hook into my throat. I didn't forget what you told me; I simply had to make a split second decision, and play him how I saw fit—something we do all the time. And that meant making him believe that I wasn't someone who could be pushed around."

"Wasn't one who…" he shook his head in disgust. "Christ, Belle, you were damn near daring him to see how much it would take you to break."

"No, I wasn't…Look, I've been in situations like that one before, and all I did was read it the best way that I could. Of course, I wasn't going to show weakness with that cover. I needed to show him that I was an equal—"

"By letting him interrogate you with a fucking snake?"

"How was I supposed to know that he was going to do that?" she challenged, shrugging her shoulders. "I thought that he had bought our deal, and that we were done. How could I have possibly known that he would have done something like that?"

"Because I warned you that he would!"

"No, you never said anything about a snake. I thought that he had bought my pitch. I'm sorry that I read him wrong, but I'm not a mind reader. However, once he brought that thing out, I certainly wasn't going to break. If I had, we would be dead right now, and you know it. And as much as you want to deny it, I know you would have done the same thing."

"No, I would have stuck to the original plan."

Belle threw up her hands in frustration. "I followed the plan! I took the lead, and didn't drop my cover. I did _exactly _what we agreed I would do, so why are you so still angry with me?"

"Because you acted rashly."

"I acted as best as I could have in that situation."

"You jumped out of the fucking car!"

"Wha—" she paused, momentarily thrown.

"There was absolutely no reason for you to do that."

"It seemed like the best plan at the time," she finished lamely, not really knowing what else to say to that. Honestly, she didn't know why she did it—she just did.

"You could have died."

"But, I didn't. We didn't. And after all of this, the mission was actually a success. We did what we set out to do. In fact, it was even better than a success, because once Jefferson gets here, I'll be able to see if we got anything off the trackers and audio transmitters that I planted on them. We might be able to—"

"You planted _what_?"

"Bugs," she answered quickly, but then stopped, sensing his rage. "It was a spare of the moment thing," she quickly amended. "I wasn't planning on using them, but once I saw Jafar there, I couldn't pass up the chance."

"Why would you do such a thing?"

"Bug them?" _Seriously?_ "Because I had a gut feeling that there was something more going on than just a meeting between two acquaintances, and since I had it with me, I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity."

"A gut—" he spat, shaking his head. "You could have been killed because you had a 'feeling'? How could you— And to bring that aboard, after I explicitly told you not to do that."

"They wouldn't have found anything. They _didn't_ find anything."

He scoffed. "Your arrogance is going to get you killed."

"No, my confidence might have gotten us our first, solid lead," she shot back. "You know, despite what you may think, I'm actually a damn good agent. I've been working NOC's, in situations even harrier than that one, long before I ever met you, and have become pretty damn good at it. The reason I'm so good at it is because I listen to my gut."

"Your gut—"

"Yes. My_ gut_. And even though you dismiss it, my gut has saved me more times than I can count. So yes, when I get a feeling, I go with it, and this situation called for me to act."

"That still doesn't excuse you for—"

"For what? For trying to get us a solid lead? For attempting to find out why a top-ranked, Al-Qaeda official and a known mercenary were consorting together, in what was obviously not their first meeting?" A look of confusion passed over Gold's face, making Belle smile in triumph. "Oh, you didn't know that about Jafar bin Abdulaziz, did you?

His silence was answer enough.

"The Company's been looking for him for years, but no one's been able to get eyes on him in over ten years. I've been personally assigned to two missions to try and take him out, but each time we never got close.

"However, now, suddenly, when there are all of these mentions of an attack on America, related to this 'Malus' plot, Haak, who is supposedly involved in this, happens to be meeting with one of the CIA's most wanted terrorists for acts against America. Now, who knows? Maybe this could be one, big coincidence, and everything I did will end up being for naught. Or maybe, hopefully, something on those recordings will tell us what is going on." She finished, looking over at Gold, who was had yet to say a word. "I'm good at this, and if anything, please trust me enough to allow me to do my job."

"Trust you enough? _Trust you_? How am I supposed to trust you to do your job, when you nearly kill yourself doing it? Belle, you almost died! Right in front of me! Don't you understand that? I had to stand there and watch you almost be killed right in front of me!"

"I didn't mean…"

He shook his head, silencing her with a hand. "You say that I have to trust you—what do you think I was doing, other than exactly that? I stood by, watching you try and push Haak over the edge, fully knowing what he could do. But since I had warned you, I trusted that you knew what you were doing, even if that meant that I had to stand by and watch him try to kill you, with his little pet, while he interrogated you."

"I'm sorry, but what else was I supposed to do? I had no choice other than to go along with it—"

"Everyone has a choice," he said icily.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That you made the wrong one!" he yelled, exasperated. "You should have stuck to what the plan was, instead of just listening to your gut."

Anger surged through Belle, quickly replacing the hurt that she felt a moment before. "Fuck you," she whispered, turning away, unable, nor wanting to say anything further.

"Belle, wait—"

She whirled around, primed and ready for a fight, as she rode the cresting wave of her anger. "You know that anyone in my position, when I first found you, would've killed you on the spot, no questions asked? It would have been easy. _So_ easy. But, I didn't. You know why? Because, I listened to my gut. I felt like something was wrong, and guess what? I was right. So, you can mock me all you want, and be mad as hell at me, but I'm not going to apologize for what I did. All I cared about last night was doing anything and everything in my power to get us off that boat alive, and that's what I did. That's it! Nothing else."

"So why risk bugging them?"

"Why else? To save you! To save us! That's all I tried—have _been_ trying to do—since… If you can't see that then—," she stopped, shrugging away the burning tears that were quickly forming in her eyes.

"I'm not worth risking your life over, dearie."

_**SMACK!**_ Before she realized what she had done, Belle pulled her stinging hand away in shock from Gold's face.

He looked back at her in shocked surprise as well, his hand reaching up to touch the quickly reddening skin.

"Don't say that. Don't _ever _say that," she whispered, her voice breaking. She swallowed, trying to force back the lump that formed in her throat, as her vision quickly dissolved into a hazy blur. The pain she felt, knowing that he truly believed what he had said, was too much. Hot tears ran down her face, clearing her vision, and allowing her to see Gold standing motionless before her, clearly pained. _Say something…_she begged him with her eyes, unable to find words herself.

Finally, his silence was more than Belle could bear, and she turned away. She only made it three steps, before a firm hand gripped her hand and stopped her, holding her in place. She turned around to find that Gold's own eyes were bright with unshed tears as well.

"Belle," he whispered, slowly reaching up to lightly touch the side of her cheek. He closed his eyes, bowing his head, and swallowed, taking a long, shuddering breath.

His pain lanced through Belle's chest, and she closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around him, and burying her face against his chest.

Gold buried his own face in her curls, and Belle could feel and hear his ragged, shuddering breaths, as he struggled to speak. "You don't understand…you are worth so much…I can't…"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean…I'm so sorry, Aiden," she whispered, pulling herself tighter into his embrace, feeling him press kisses into her hair.

"I'm not brave like you, Belle, I'm not…I can't lose you."

Belle pulled back, reaching up to cup his face. "You won't. I'm not going anywhere."

His gaze nervously flickered all around her face, everywhere except her eyes.

"Aiden," she said, lowering her face to meet his eyes. "You're not going to lose me. You won't."

Finally, he met her gaze. He looked unsure, lost at her words.

"You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not," she smiled, her voice cracking again, and then leaned forward to press her lips to his in a tentative, chaste kiss. Her lips lingered on his, hesitating for a brief second, before he finally sighed, deepening the kiss, while he threaded his fingers through her hair, tugging at the strands, as he angled in, slanting his face to deepen the kiss even more.

After a long moment, they both pulled away, breathless, with Gold lingering to press another kiss to her forehead, before he pulled her again to his chest, enveloping her in his arms.

"Let's go back inside," Belle whispered, taking his hand, feeling suddenly exhausted.

Gold nodded, allowing her to guide him across the wet, manicured grass, and into the house.

Her impromptu tour that she had given herself while searching for him, made it easy for her to remember where their bedroom was located in the sprawling, one-story building. Upon entering their massive suite, she saw that Mr. Sibale had already arranged for two sets of sleeping attire to be set aside on the stool by the bed, along with the bandages and first aid supplies she had requested when they first arrived to treat for her abrasions.

Letting go of Gold's hand, she walked over to the bed, slowly stripping out of the cotton, long-sleeved t-shirt, and cargo pants that they had been given prior to leaving Durban. As much as she tried to brace herself for it, she gasped in pain as some of the unclosed wounds pulled open, after being stuck to the clothing.

"Here," Gold murmured behind her, "let me help."

His warm hands carefully threaded their way under her shirt, and began to carefully separate the material from her ruined skin. Most of the makeshift bandages she had applied when they had changed clothes in Durban had fallen off, leaving the majority of her wounds uncovered, and sticking to her clothing. With every slight tug, Belle flinched.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. Keep going."

He stopped, though, stepping around to her front. His eyes roamed warily over her face, his concern evident, and he traced her cheek with his finger.

"The sooner I get out of this, the sooner we can get to bed," she replied, trying her best to be suggestive, despite the circumstances, but clearly failing.

"What do you need me to do?"

She extended her arms above her head, feeling the skin break and crack as she stretched upward. "Help me get this off, and then I have to bandage it again."

Slowly, carefully, he wove his fingers underneath her shirt, and separated it from her wounded skin, whispering apologies and encouragements as he did so.

Belle stifled a gasp, biting her tongue at his excruciatingly slow place. He hesitated, feeling her tension. "No, keep going," she gasped, forcing out the words.

He complied, finally getting the shirt off. "Sweetheart…"

"I know. I know. It looks worse that it feels," she lied.

"Your pants, as well?"

Belle winced, nodding.

Methodically, he repeated the same slow motions, helping her remove the rest of her clothing, except for her

"Fuck, that hurt," she cursed under her breath, as he finally removed her last pant leg.

Gold instantly froze, his eyes worriedly darting up to hers.

She tried to wave his concern off. "It's okay, you didn't do anything wrong. It'll just remind me not to jump out of a car anytime soon in the future."

He clearly didn't see her humor, as he continued to stare at her stone-faced, unable to look away from her bare, damaged skin.

"I've had worse."

"When?"

She shrugged, sheepishly biting her lip at her lie. "Okay, so this is probably one of my worse ones."

"Christ, Belle."

"I'll be all right," she promised. "I just have to get the dressing on, and it'll be fine. What about you?"

"Don't worry about me."

"Take this off," she ordered, pulling at his shirt. "I saw what that man did to you." Ugly, purple bruises covered his side, extending around his mid-back. "Oh, Aiden," she sighed, tentatively running her fingers over the discolored flesh.

"It's nothing."

"What about your ribs?"

"They're fine."

Belle chuckled at their false pride. Half naked, and covered in bruises, and cuts, head to toe, and they still couldn't admit the truth to each other.

Gold lifted his eyebrow, looking at her suspiciously. "What?"

"Us," Belle laughed. "We're pathetic." He clearly didn't understand her humor, so she quickly continued. "Lying to each other about this," she said, gesturing to their respective sides. "We can't…Look, I'll be honest—this hurts like hell. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I haven't had something hurt like this in a long time, including when I was shot back in Antigua."

"Belle, we need to get you to a hospital, then."

"No, no, that's not what I meant," she interjected. "I'll be fine. I just…we can't lie to each other about this, just to keep up appearances." She shrugged, self depreciatingly, but it was clear from his stricken expression that he had stopped listening, probably after she said "hurt," so she grabbed the dressings and his hand. "Here," she said, "let's get this over with, so we can get some sleep. I'm exhausted."

He followed her to the bathroom, slightly hesitating. "What would you like me to do?"

Belle bit her lip, looking between the large shower, and the tub—neither option seemed appealing. In truth, she would rather do nothing to her skin, except for taking copious amounts of painkillers to numb it, but she knew from her previous experience, that she needed to get all of the dirt and asphalt out of her skin before it made it worse.

Gold made the decision for her, and walked over to the nearby sink, filling it with water. "Lie down on your side," he quietly instructed her.

She obeyed, and tentatively lay down on the thick rug, by his feet.

"Tell me what to do."

"We need to clean it out, disinfect it, and then wrap it in the gauze."

"You've done this before."

Belle winced, feeling his first, light dab with the wet washcloth. "A few times." She gasped again, causing him to stop again. "No, no, just ignore me."

"Easier said than done, my dear."

"Just wait until you pour the peroxide on," she laughed through the pain. "I'll probably teach you some new words."

Gold chuckled, returning with a fresh, wet washcloth. "Doubtful."

"Oh, don't be so sure. I once spent a month holed up in a foxhole with my sniping partner with nothing to do except watch our targets, and wait for the 'go' order. It took me years to finally get my mouth under control after that," she said, looking up to watch Gold.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his face, relaxing his concentration.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" she teased.

He cocked his jaw, sighing. "Rather hard not to, I confess."

"I'll keep that in mind for next—" she stopped, sucking in a breath of air, as a sharp spike of pain shot through her hip. "Keep that in mind for next time."

"I'd rather there not be a next time."

"That wasn't what I was talking about," she teased, enjoying the little gulp she heard above her.

Nearly an hour later, Gold finally finished his work, wrapping Belle in so much gauze that she looked as if she was going to a Halloween party, instead of to bed, but she didn't have it in her heart to tell him otherwise. Her cries alone, from the nearly unbearable sting of the alcohol against her raw skin, had nearly driven him out of the room and into a panic attack, despite her assurances and warnings beforehand.

Not wanting to risk her skin attaching to her clothes again, Belle took off her underwear, and slipped into the bed. She waited for Gold to join her, hearing the shower finally turn off in the adjacent room.

After a few minutes, he rounded the corner, and immediately smiled. "Hey," he said, quietly.

Belle gently turned toward him, propping herself up on her good side. "Did you have a nice shower?"

"Yes," he murmured, leaning over to give her a kiss, as he settled into bed, pulling the thin sheet over them. "Here." He opened his hand, dropping two more painkillers into her palm.

She promptly swallowed the pills without water. "Thank you," she sighed, settling herself on his chest. "I'm sorry for earlier. I don't want to fight with you."

He turned his head and bent down to kiss her forehead. "Neither do I, love. It's not your fault. I…overreacted.

"No, you didn't. I wasn't thinking."

"No, you were being you. You were being brave." He stopped, letting out a sigh, falling silent. Belle thought that he had fallen asleep, before he quietly started again after a long while. "I don't have your courage, Belle. What you do without hesitation, I could never do myself, and it scares me to death watching you do it."

She could hear in his voice that his confession had taken a lot out of him, so she pushed herself up, so she could see his face, needing to see him. "Aiden, I wouldn't be able to do any of that, if I didn't know that you were with me and had my back. You give me the courage to do those things," she said, pressing a firm kiss to his lips. She pulled slightly away, settling back on his chest. "You're the bravest man I know."

"I'm no—"

"Don't say it," she said, playfully slapping his chest.

"Belle," he warned.

"I don't want to hear it. I know what I believe, but you're not going to convince me otherwise."

"Even if it's the truth," he sighed.

"_Especially_ if you think that it's the truth," she teased back, trying to soothe him by rubbing his chest.

"But—"

"No."

"Belle—"

"Nope, not going to hear it."

"Belle?"

"Hmm?" she looked up at him.

His eyes were wide and glassy, as he stared at her, seemingly in disbelief. His mouth opened, and she watched him struggle with the words that she could see so clearly in his eyes.

Overwhelmed herself, she smiled, feeling the burn of tears threatening to spill down her cheeks once again. "I know," she said, smiling down at him, her voice cracking.

He cut her off with a kiss. Urgent, and needy, he pulled her up to him; hungrily parting her lips to delve his tongue into her mouth, groaning as she readily complied.

Belle moaned into his mouth, arching her neck, as he greedily pressed open-mouthed kisses down her neck, while he kneaded her breast, causing a flicker of pleasant pain when he pinched one of her nipples. His action caused Belle to gasp, and arch her back, as she felt her familiar, pulsing heat pool between her legs.

Gold grinned against her chin at her response, scraping her skin with his teeth, as he continued to press kisses down her throat.

Wanting even more, Belle pulled his face up to hers again, and threaded her hands through his fine, soft hair, allowing him to pull her on top of him. "Ahh!" she cried out in pain, as his hand grabbed her injured side by mistake.

Gold immediately released her, worriedly looking her over in alarm. "I'm sorry," he said, carefully arranging her back on the bed, as he visibly tried to catch his breath.

"It's okay. I just hit my side by accident—"

He shook his head, giving her a small smile; before he leaned down to kiss her chastely, encouraging her to lie back down. "You need to rest."

"I need _you_," she whispered fervently, not wanting the moment to end. He was here—they were both here— safe and alive, and suddenly that was all that mattered to her, and she felt an undeniable urge to be closer with him, to feel the intimacy and closeness that only resulted from them coming together.

"I'll hurt you."

"I trust you," she smiled back, reaching up to kiss him again. Briefly considering the mechanics of how this could work, considering she was unable to bend, or touch, her entire left side, she threaded his fingers through his, and she turned over on her right side, carefully trying to avoid any contact with the bandages, and pushed back against him, feeling his hardness press against the small of her back. _Yeah, this will work_, she thought, feeling her whole body ache with need.

"Belle," he breathed, hovering his hand over her, clearly unsure and wary of where to place it.

She reached over and placed it on her breast. "It's okay," she nodded. "I trust you." Frustratingly unable to reach behind and take him in hand herself, because of her damaged arm, Belle arched her back, impatiently. "Please," she begged, rubbing against him.

To her surprise, he pulled away from her, and gently directed her to move back onto her back. "Trust me," he breathed, slightly grinning, as he knowingly threw her words back at her.

Belle nodded, smiling back, and spread her legs, as he moved between them, encouraging him to enter her, but instead, he slid further downward, slowly kissing—_worshiping_—his way down her body, taking care to avoid her hurt side, while he took his time indulging himself in having his way with her. "Aiden," she keened, her hips jerking as his fingers slowly teased her folds, while he took her breast in his mouth.

He lifted himself up to kiss her, swallowing her needy cries, while he began to delve deeper with his clever hand, finding her bud of pleasure, and teasing it, slowly rubbing circles around it.

Belle's head swam, overwhelmed by the sensations, and she finally leaned back, letting herself surrender to the pleasure of his attentions, as he broke contact to venture down her body again.

It was clear by the sounds he was making that this was clearly no chore for him, and they only excited Belle more, leaving her only a heartbeat way from coming apart in his hands.

Her breath started to come faster and faster, as Gold moved even further downward, reaching the place that she, oh, so wanted him too, and he slowly lapped at her, taking his own time and pleasure savoring her, before he finally slid his fingers inside her.

Belle gasped again, her toes curling, while he continued to pleasure her with his mouth, thrusting them in-and-out in an agonizingly deliberate pace, alternating between hard and fast, and then slow and gentle. "Please," she begged, unable to bear it any longer, feeling right on the edge of her precipice.

Gold let out a sound of pleasure as he responded to her pleas, thrusting his fingers faster, while encircling her sensitive bud with his mouth.

It only took one more moment before he sent her right over the edge, causing Belle to cry out as she came hard, clenching around his fingers, stars crossing her field of vision. Wave after wave of pleasure rushed over her, finally abating, leaving her slack, panting, and weightless. She opened up her legs to allow Gold to enter her, but instead, he came up and kissed her, slowly and deeply. Belle groaned, tasting herself on his tongue. She tried to bring him downwards, to allow him to enter him, but he shook his head, carefully moving over to lie by her side. "Aiden?"

He leaned over and kissed her again. "Not tonight, love. Rest."

Belle smiled into the kiss, getting an idea, and pulled away to flip herself onto her stomach, allowing her to grasp him with her good arm. She might not be able to do much, but she could do this for him. "Let me," she whispered, slowly stroking his length in her hand. She wasn't about to leave him wanting, not after he had just given her so much pleasure.

Gold's eyes slammed shut at her unexpected act, his protest dying on his lips, as she ran the pad of her thumb over his head, spreading the slight amount of fluid there.

Getting an idea, she lifted her own hips up, taking some of the moisture that was still between her legs, and applied it to his cock, coating it, leaving it slick as she continued her ministrations. "Fuck, Belle," Gold groaned, realizing what she had done.

Belle smiled in triumph at his response, pressing kisses to his upper chest, as she stroked him harder. His hips jerked up towards her hand, as she enjoyed mimicking the same technique that he had just employed on her—fast and hard, and then slow, nearly stilling, before she pumped him harder once again.

His cock twitched in her hand, and she felt his muscles tense, and his breath start to come in short gasps. She could tell he was close, so she increased her pace, stroking him harder, while she watched him, enjoying being able to watch him come unglued before her, bucking his hips into her hand.

Moments later, Gold cried out and arched his back, coming in her hand.

Belle continued to slowly stroke him, trying to draw out his lingering pleasure, as he collapsed, slumping into the pillows, reaching for her with his arm. She released him, leaning over to meet him in a clumsy, wet kiss, full of meaning, yet completely unskilled in their haste.

Their kisses soon slowed, growing soft and tender, until Belle finally settled back down onto his chest, draping her good arm over him, feeling more relaxed and at peace than since they had last left the island. A strong feeling of nostalgia hit her, reminding her of that peaceful place, and her heart clenched in regret, suddenly wishing that they had never left that place.

As if sensing her thoughts, Gold reached up and intertwined his fingers with hers, kissing her brow, and giving her hand a comforting squeeze, reminding Belle of what mattered—Gold was here, and they were safe.

Belle leaned up, looking into his eyes, and opened her mouth to speak, wanting to say something, but her words died on her lips, her shyness getting the best of her, and she covered it with a kiss that she could only hope he understood.

Sleep quickly proved too tempting to resist, with her eyelids soon growing heavy, and she let herself drift away, into the darkness, warm and safe in Gold's arms.

…

Belle awoke suddenly, jarred from a dream which she immediately forgot. A warm arm pulled her close, grounding her in reality, and provided the instant comfort that she had become accustomed to waking up to.

"G'morning, love," Gold murmured, sleep making his brogue grow thick to Belle's delight, as he shifted underneath her, leaning up to greet her in a kiss.

It appeared that she hadn't moved an inch all night. Belle tried to lift herself off of him, feeling bad for surely causing his arm to fall asleep, but Gold held her firmly in place. Chuckling, she turned her head to meet his lips in another kiss. "Morning," she whispered back.

He shifted towards her, blocking out the morning sun with his body. "Did you sleep well?"

Belle blinked sleepily and nodded. "Mmm hmm. You?"

"How could I not?"

His teasing tone made her blush and giggle with delight, and she leaned forward to kiss him again, unable to resist.

Suddenly, he froze, pulling away as he focused on something behind her, his muscles going tense, instantly turning Belle's blood to ice.

"What is it?"

"Turn around," he whispered. "Slowly."

With her heart pounding in her chest, she turned her head around to look at what he was staring so intently at. She gasped.

A large cheetah was lounging against the sliding, glass door, not even ten feet from their bed.

She looked back, hitting Gold in the chest. "Don't do that to me! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

He flinched, apologetically. "I didn't want to scare it away."

Belle rolled her eyes, and shifted up on the pillows, taking care to avoid her injured side, so she could position herself to see the beautiful cat better.

Gold moved to join her, letting her lean back on his hard chest, while he stroked his fingers through her hair. "So are you going to go capture it?"

"What?" she laughed, craning her neck to see his face.

"Well, I thought that since you were so adept at catching that snake that you might want to try your hand at capturing a—"

"Stop," she giggled, lightly smacking his leg.

His own chest rumbled with laughter, as they quietly watched the relaxing animal.

"How did you know how to do it?"

Belle frowned, continuing to examine his hand that was toying with her tresses in front of her. "What?"

"Know how to pick the snake up without getting bit?"

"_Crocodile Hunter_ reruns," she deadpanned, enjoying how his breath hitched. "No," she chuckled, letting him off the hook before he began lecturing her. "From my father. I remembered how he used to pick them up when I was younger, living in Alice Springs. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Looking back, I admit, I don't know what the hell I was thinking."

"You saved us. You should have seen Haak's face when you did that."

She grinned, reliving Haak's shocked face. "Was he serious about that?"

"What? His 'trial'?"

"Yeah."

"Who knows? Probably. I wasn't lying when I told you that the man is unhinged. I've only dealt with him a couple times in the past, and each time was an experience."

"Well, at least he'll never get to those boys."

"What if he actually takes out those men?"

"Emma will owe me drinks for a year. She's been looking for those two for years. They've completely dropped off the grid. If he finds them...well, we'll be doing the world a favor. Plus, it isn't as if we have to go back there. We got what we needed by going there."

"The drive will work?"

"You tell me—you're the one who wrote it."

"With your help."

"Hush. I simply embedded your code." The SD card she had given Haak was actually a virus transmitter, which, in theory, transferred all of his files to a remote server. "I think that it will work. If not, hopefully, we'll get something off of the bugs."

Gold scoffed behind her, blowing her hair. "I still can't believe you did that."

"You're impressed, admit it."

"I'm not unimpressed."

"Hmm."

He tilted his head, pressing his nose into her hair, while he ran his hand up and down her good side. "So what of this Jefferson character? Can we trust him?"

"Yes. And you have to be nice to him."

"Because he's your ex?"

Belle sighed loudly, hitting his leg again. "How many times do I have to tell you that he's not my ex? He's an asset – that's all."

"Since all 'assets' drop everything to fly down to help their handlers."

"It's not like that, and you know it."

"Actually, no, I don't."

Belle groaned, and turned around in his arms to lie on top of him. "Why Mr. Gold, are you jealous?"

Gold frowned, affronted. "No. Of course, not."

She teasingly stroked her finger up his chest, making him shiver, as she traced a line up to his cheek. "Really? Because it seems like you are," she breathed, replacing her finger with her lips.

He gulped, as she kissed him again, turning her head to lightly suck on his ear.

"So, are you?" she whispered.

"No. No, I'm not."

"Good," she said, pulling back with a smile. "Promise to not try to kill him, or scare the hell out of him, then?"

"I promise," Gold sighed.

"Good," Belle said, lifting herself up off of him. "Because if you don't, last night will be the last time you get anything for a long, _long_ time. Okay?" she smiled brightly.

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Then, I promise."

Belle smiled, and swung her legs around to get out of bed.

_**Grrr…**_

"Holy shit!" Belle yelped, jumping back into bed at the sound of the cheetah's low growl. The animal was now standing, staring directly at her though the window.

"Does this mean that you changed your mind?"

"Can it get in here?" she asked worriedly, keeping her eyes on the cat, which was pacing the length of the glass wall.

"Doubtful," he answered confidently.

She looked back with a sigh. "Well, in that case, it seems that you have me until that thing moves, or Jefferson arrives—that's it."

Gold grinned wolfishly, and lowered himself down above her, being careful of her bandaged side. "You've got yourself a deal."

…

Much to Gold's chagrin, the cheetah left long before the Jefferson arrived. However, Belle did indulge him for a couple more hours in bed, before she finally made them leave the room in search of food.

Despite their protests that it wasn't necessary, Mr. Sibale had still arranged for a full meal to be served to them outside, in a large viewing platform on the edge of the property, which provided an exquisite view of the Serengeti before them, an immense, and beautiful space, dotted by groups of herd of animals in the distance. The land itself was so vast that it both comforted and alarmed Belle as looked out at it.

"Don't be worried."

Belle turned around at the sound of Mr. Sibale's voice.

The man smiled, gesturing around. "We've made sure that the cat has been removed from the area. Nothing can harm you here."

"Thank you," she smiled, accepting the glass of iced tea he held out to her. The cats were the least of their worries, not that she would ever say anything to the steward. "Any word on when Mr. Harrison is due to arrive?" She noticed Gold perked up at her question beside her, no matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise, as he kept his eyes fixated on his book.

"Mr. Harrison sent word this morning that he will be arriving around 6:00 p.m., in time for dinner."

"How did he do that?" Gold asked, keeping his voice even and disinterested.

Sibale smiled proudly. "Mr. Harrison has installed a state-of-the-art, secure communications system here. He insists that it's best in all of the country."

"No doubt," Gold answered dryly.

"Thank you, Mr. Sibale," Belle interjected, before Gold could unnerve the man any more with his intense expression.

The man gave them a slight bow. "Is there anything else that I can get you?"

"No, we're fine for the moment. Thank you."

With that, the friendly man left them alone, allowing Belle to turn her head and glare at Gold, who had resumed "reading" his book. "What was that?"

"Hmm?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows, as he kept "reading."

"That. Staring down that poor man for no reason."

He quirked his lip, smirking to himself.

"Don't do that to Jefferson."

"Don't worry, m'dear, your threat is still very present in my mind. Why else did you think I kept you in our bed for so long this morning?"

Belle laughed, curling up in her accompanying chair to watch him. "You're that confident that you're not going to be able to resist harassing Jefferson?"

He tilted his head side to side in mock contemplation. "Depends on how long is your definition of 'long' is?"

"Long enough that you'll regret whatever your planning in that mischievous, little head of yours."

Gold chuckled.

Belle smirked back, watching the little wheels in his head turn, weighing the consequences. "Maybe try meeting him first, before planning how you're going to harass him? Hmm? He has knives. I know how much you like knives."

"Why are you so convinced that I am planning something?"

"Because I know you…and, you've been chuckling to yourself for the past hour."

Caught, his face brightening into a warm smile and he extended his hand across the small table, separating them, to grab hers, giving it a small squeeze, which she returned.

"Give him a chance. He's harmless, and he might just be odd enough that you may find that you like him."

"There's only one person I like."

She rolled her eyes, but still squeezed his hand again, unabashedly charmed. "Well, in that case, I guess I won't have to be jealous of him taking you away from me."

Still holding hands, they once again lapsed into an easy silence, both returning to their respective reading that they had found in Jefferson's library—Belle, a copy of _The Count of Monte Cristo_, and Gold, an antique edition of _Moby Dick_.

It wasn't until the sky had darken into rosy, pink hues, that Mr. Sibale finally returned to announce that Jefferson was due to arrive at any moment.

"Be nice," she warned, throwing Gold a pointed look, as they entered the house once again.

Both of them stopped in their tracks at the scene before them. The large space, which had been once a tastefully decorated living room when they had last saw it, was now a storage locker, stacked high, nearly to the ceiling, with an innumerable amount of boxes, crates, and metal cases.

Gold released her hand and walked over to examine some of the metal gun cases up closer, leaving Belle alone to look around the room in disbelief. None of this had been here an hour ago, when she had come inside to get another iced tea.

"Bonnet!"

Belle peered around a tall stack of boxes, and was nearly tackled by a khaki-clad Jefferson running up to her. Her asset was clothed, head-to-toe, in what was, quite possibly, the most over the top safari outfit she had ever seen.

"Bonnet!" He jerked to a stop in front of her, an expression of horror transforming his features, as his extended arms fell to his sides. "Oh, dear God, what _happened_ to you?"

"It's okay, Jefferson. It looks worse than it is—"

"What do you need me to do? Do you need a doctor? Medic? Surgeon?...Witch doctor?"

She laughed, catching him mid-step, as he made a move to go leave and presumably find help. "No, no, it's just road rash."

He sighed dramatically, cocking his head. "Bonnet, you need to _tell _me about these things! You know how I get. I can't tell you how worried I've been about you, ever since you disappeared!"

"I'm sorry, we needed to—" She stopped, watching Jefferson's jaw drop as he became fixated on something behind her. Belle followed his gaze, noting that it was only Gold, examining a knife behind them.

"Is that who I think that is?"

"Who do you think it is?" Belle asked, playing along, chuckling at his dramatics.

"You _know,_" he whispered, motioning with his eyebrows. He stepped forward, inches from her face, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Is he going to make me disappear now that I've seen him? Oh no, Bonnet, he's staring at me."

"He's not going to do anything to you." She turned around, gesturing for Gold to come join them. "Jefferson Harrison, please meet—"

"Gold," Gold said curtly, taking a step towards them, his cane clicking loudly on the floor.

Jefferson jittered nervously with his hands, before he finally extended his hand towards Gold. Before he could reciprocate, Jefferson grabbed Gold's hand from him, and excitedly shook it up and down. "It is an honor, sir. An _honor_." He released his hand, nearly quivering in excitement. "I can't believe—" He stopped turning to Belle quickly, lowering his voice. "You're sure about the whole not killing thing?"

"Yes."

He turned back to Gold with a bright smile. "I can't believe you're here. We're going to be great friends."

Belle nearly doubled-over in laughter at Gold's wide-eyed, bewildered expression.

"What?"

"Ask Bonnet—I am a _fantastic_ friend." He stopped again, sighing and shaking his head in disbelief. "I never thought that I'd meet an actual 007 before…this is just…above and beyond. Truly."

"Well, it's certainly nice to meet you as well, Mr. Harrison," Gold said, carefully. "I'm glad to finally be able to thank you in person for assisting us. Your weapons have been most useful—"

"My weapons? You used—" he stopped gasping, covering his mouth in shock. "My weapons. You took _my_ weapons into the field?"

Gold frowned, glancing over towards Belle. "…yes. You were the one who sent them to us, correct?"

Jefferson waved his hand, pinching his brow. "One second," he squeaked out. "This is just…let me remember this."

Belle couldn't hold back, loudly snorting, as she tried in vain to stifle her laughter. Her reaction drew Gold's attention, and he glanced worriedly over at her. _Warned you, _she mouthed, knowingly tilting her head towards her asset_._ "Jefferson," she said, snapping him to attention, "before we do, or say, anything further, we need to talk to you. It's important."

"Certainly. Of course."

"In private," Gold added.

Jefferson pursed his lips, as he animatedly moved his hands side-to-side, seemingly evaluating his options. "My lab," he declared, leading the way. He glanced over his shoulder, back towards them, hitting a box in the process. "I can't wait to show you everything that I brought you here. I didn't know what you needed, so I brought everything with me," he said excitedly, gesturing to all of the boxes, nearly knocking over another of them.

"That's very thoughtful of you," Belle said, jumping forward to steady a teetering box.

"Shh…anything for you, Bonnet—you know that."

That remark earned a pointed look from Gold, which Belle quickly reciprocated with a quick jab to his ribs, once Jefferson turned back around.

After winding through the house, he led them into a large, formal study, walking directly over to the bookshelves along the wall. "C, c, c…Carroll, Carroll…where is Carroll? Ah, here we are!" he triumphantly declared, pulling a book out of the shelf.

Immediately, the entire wall swung out towards them, revealing a dark passage, which was instantly illuminated with a quick movement of Jefferson's arm into the space.

"Fantastic, isn't it? Come, come, you must see what I've built down here."

Belle motioned Gold forward, enjoying watching his reactions to her over-eager asset. Thankfully, Jefferson wasn't as high as he could be. This was actually fairly close to level for him, not that Gold would ever believe it.

They followed the wide, shallow steps down, for what seemed like more than a story. Gold had to take several breaks to rest his knee, which pained Belle to see. Despite his insistence to the contrary, she knew that his knee was worse today.

Finally, they reached the ground floor, and Jefferson flipped a switch. Large, fluorescent panels lit up, row-by-row; unveiling an immense space, nearly double the lodge's square footage. Like his lab in London, the room was filled with numerous, metal workstations, with more electronic equipment than probably the entire R&D department at DARPA.

"Do you like it? It's nearly a complete duplicate of my others, with a few additions." He took off his safari hat, dramatically sitting down, and pressed a button, causing a hidden door to slide shut behind them. "Now, what is this secret plan that you want to discuss with me?"

Belle winced, shaking her head. "It's not a secret plan, Jefferson. It's…" she glanced over to Gold, unsure of how much he wanted her to tell him.

"We've been blacklisted, Mr. Harrison," Gold said, matter-of-factly, taking over. "It means that by simply being in our presence, you are committing treason, and can be charged with conspiracy to harbor and consort with traitors. You can go to jail, or worse, if they're able to extradite you to the US, where they will execute you."

Jefferson shrugged. "Okay."

Gold sighed in exasperation. "Mr. Harrison, you need to understand that if you don't want to be targeted and charged with treason for assisting us, you need to tell us and we will leave right now. Neither of us want to involve you in this, if you don't want to, now that you know the risks."

"Jefferson, we don't want you to lose everything just for helping us. You've done so much for us already, I can't ask you to do anything more. I didn't want to get you involved, taking us here, but I—"

"Shh, shh, Bonnet, is that all you're worried about? That I won't want to help you?"

"It's not a matter of wanting to help—you're putting yourself at risk just by talking to us right now."

"Really?"

"Really."

"That's terribly exciting."

Belle groaned. "You don't understand—"

Jefferson smiled, tipping his head to the side. "My dear, Bonnet, I know that I come off as a little…eccentric, or so I've been told, but please don't take my behavior for not understanding what you're saying, because I do. What _I_ can't comprehend is why you would ever think that I wouldn't want to help you. Bonnet, you're the only person that has ever taken me seriously in my whole life. I'm not going to stand by, and let something happen to either of you."

"Jefferson…"

"No, my mind is completely made up. I'm not going to let you leave, and then have to find out for myself what is going on again."

"Wait—what do you mean 'again'?"

"Oh, well, you see, when you went missing, I got worried that you were in trouble, so I looked into what happened. But, don't worry, I made sure to cover all of my tracks— they never suspected a thing."

_Oh, fuck._

"Who are they?" Gold asked pointedly.

"Mmm…CIA, Interpol, MI6? I had to cover my bases, of course, to find out what was really going on. Don't worry, though—I never believed for a second that either of you were guilty, no matter what your files said."

"Christ," Gold muttered beside her.

"What? What's wrong?" Jefferson asked, his face comically skewing in panicked confusion.

"What's wrong, Mr. Harrison, is that you may have not only compromised yourself, but also us, as well," Gold answered for her.

His face crumpled in anguish.

"Jefferson, we just need be sure that there's no way that anyone could've known that you were looking into our files, and be tracking us, or you, now, as a result."

"Don't worry about a thing, Bonnet—I can still call you, Bonnet, right? I know it's not your real name, but we have this whole history, and it would be hard to swit—"

"It's fine."

"Oh, good. Okay, where was I?"

"How we're not supposed to worry?" Gold answered.

"Ah, yes, of course. Well, as I said, there is nothing for you to worry about, because once I found out that you were alive, I got worried that someone else would be able to see your files, since I found them, so I rewrote their encryption software, and placed firewalls around your files."

"Won't people notice that?"

"Oh, no. I'm very good."

Gold shot Belle a pointed glance.

"No, really. I've been looking through their files, and they've never suspected a thing."

_Oh god. _"Jefferson, it's not just the government that's after us. There are other people—other _groups_—that have been sending people after us, that are even more dangerous. Even we aren't sure who they really are."

"Oh, yes, about that," Jefferson interjected, swinging around in his chair towards a computer. "I found out who was after you in Durban. It's amazing what a little bribery will get you in this part of the world. And don't worry," he said, waving her off with an elaborate hand gesture. "I have completely distanced myself from them ever finding out that I hacked their files. Here," he said, swiping a large touch screen with his finger, to show three sets of fingerprints and files. "Those are your assassins."

Three sets of fingerprints, and dental records, showed up on the large, 70" screen, side by side.

Gold stepped forward, frowning as he examined the screen closer. "There were four men."

"Ah, yes. Apparently one was…burnt beyond recognition. The other fingerprints must have burnt off in the fire, too. That's why they're listed as N/A."

"No, they would've been removed before that," Gold said. "Belle? A word?" he murmured, gesturing up the stairs.

"Can you excuse us for a moment, Jefferson?"

"Certainly! Secret matters—I understand," he said with a wink. "I'll get the rest of these computers up and running for when you get back."

"Thanks," Belle smiled, following Gold back up the stairs. She already had a very strong feeling what he wanted to discuss with her, not that she could blame him for having reservations about Jefferson; she was having strong reservations involving him now herself. She was still reeling from the fact that he had taken it upon himself to hack into the all of the major intelligence agencies' databases.

Gold led her outside into the night, holding the door open for her. They walked in silence until they distanced themselves away from the home, while still keeping within the view of the lights that surrounded the property.

After their fight yesterday, Belle was in no mood to quarrel with Gold, so quickly held up a hand to speak first. "Before you say anything, I want you to know that I had no idea he was going to do that. And also, I totally agree with you."

"I didn't say anything," Gold quietly said, his voice curiously devoid of the anger she expected.

"Your face," she said, motioning to her own. "So, whatever you want to do, and think is best—you make the call and I'll support it."

He nodded, looking out into the dark plains. "When did you recruit him?"

"Six years ago. I was on a solo mission, and needed access to a target, so I used him to get into a society function that the person was attending. After that, I used him several more times for similar purposes, until I finally, unofficially recruited him as my asset. I never put it on the books, for the reason you just saw—he's borderline ADHD, and possibly bipolar. Plus, you know how Langley is about using non-issued weapons."

Gold snorted, tipping his head in agreement.

"He's a genius, truly. I've been using his inventions for years, and he's never asked for anything more than to simply help."

"Did you ever conduct a background check on him?"

"Of course. His parents died when he was in college. His father was a shipping magnate, but after he died, he left the company in control of a trust, excluding Jefferson from having any part of it. I know that it hurt him deeply. He's sort of latched on to this asset role. To think that he'd be compromised in any way—I highly doubt it. Mentally, I don't think that he would be able to pull off the double cross, without revealing himself. Do you think that he might have compromised us by breaking into Langley?"

"You would know more about that, than I, m'dear. I'm rather out-dated in some of these newer hacking programs and techniques."

Belle pursed her lips, thinking. "I don't know. It's not my field either. I know that he's very good, but…" she shrugged. "I don't know."

"Do you trust him?"

"He's never given me a reason not to," she said honestly. "I know that I'm alive because of him, and his help." She paused, looking over at Gold. "What do you think? What do you want to do?"

Gold met her gaze, and then down at her hand, taking it in his. "We'll have to examine how much damage was done—can you do that?"

"Maybe. I'll probably need his help."

"If we find that there was any sort of trace—"

"We'll leave," she finished.

He nodded in agreement, pulling her to his side, and kissing her forehead. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

The warm sentiment made Belle smile, and lean up to give him a kiss on the lips.

"Is he always that high-strung?"

Belle chuckled, feeling some of the tension leave her as she did so. "Sometimes more so, especially when he's excited about something. You can't say that I didn't warn you."

"You could have been a little more explicit in your warning."

"But, what would be the fun in that?"

Gold smirked. "Just be glad that you have a talent for threats, m'dear."

Belle cupped his cheek, and gave him a long, lingering kiss. "I'm better at rewards," she whispered in his ear, before stepping away.

He coughed, barely stifling a pathetic groan.

"Come on. Let's go back inside," Belle said, pulling on his hand. "We can see what damage he's done in the five minutes that we've left him alone."

…

Luckily, they found Jefferson in the same place that they had left him, sitting in front of his monitors, quickly typing a multitude of commands into the numerous computers, as he slid between them in his wheeling chair.

"Jefferson?"

Her asset promptly twirled around, and jumped out of the leather chair before it came to a standstill. "At your service," he announced, giving a slight bow.

Belle couldn't help but smile at his eagerness. "Jefferson, while Gold and I both appreciate everything you've done for us—"

"You're leaving?"

"Ah—no," Belle frowned, thrown by his assumption.

"Bonnet, say no more, I've seen that look before. In fact, I've used it myself at many a party. There's no need to make up any excuses. Please take whatever you need with you though. I can't bear for you to leave without any protection."

"We're not leaving, Mr. Harrison."

Jefferson jerked in shock at Gold's quiet statement. "You're…you're not leaving me?"

Belle smiled, shaking her head. "No. But, we need to make sure that there is no possible way for you to have been tracked here by anyone, because if there is even the slightest chance, then we will be forced to leave here, including you as well."

"There can be absolutely _no _chance," Gold reiterated.

"Of course, of course," Jefferson readily agreed. "Don't worry. I promise that I have it all covered. Look—" he said, sitting back down again, and twirling towards the monitors. "This is the ISP tracking from my private server. I brought three in total several years ago, which I use exclusively for my use on the tier one network. You see, when I look anything up, I run it through ten anonymous, fully encrypted proxy servers, before I run it through here, and then I'll run it through ten more. That way, I can set up a trap to see if I have anyone tracing me. See here?" he pointed to a small group of numbers on the screen. "That's when I broke into the CIA a couple weeks ago. They sent a bot after me, but I was able to track it back, and cover my tracks, while completely destroying all records of ever trying to find me. Drove them insane!

"Tonight, they didn't even know that I was in there, so we're in the clear. It was just the Durban Police Department and Morgue that I stole those files from—like taking candy from a baby. Ten pounds that they didn't even know what was going on. Plus, of the servers here are encrypted to a standard greater your NSA's CCEP Type-1, anyways. They can't break into here if they tried, and even if they did make it onto the property…" he darted across the room on his chair, illuminating a complete wall of security cameras. "We can take them out."

"Take them out?"

"Well, yes, of course."

"With what?" Gold asked.

Jefferson shrugged, pointing upwards. "With anything you want, I suppose."

Gold smirked back, lifting an eyebrow at Belle. He obviously had no problem with that.

"What about your staff?"

"They all live here on the grounds—have been with my family ever since I was a boy."

"Background checks?"

"Naturally."

"And your Mr. March, the one that was in Antigua—where is he?"

"He couldn't come—was late for an important date, so he sent me ahead."

"Do you know who he is meeting with?"

"Some investor," he shrugged. "He handles all of those matters for me."

"I thought that he was your security man?"

Jefferson nodded at Belle. "Oh, he is. He's my right-hand-man, so to speak." He paused, going suddenly wide-eyed. "Oh, no…do you think that he might have compromised our mission?"

"We don't know for—"

"Say no more," he said, holding up a hand. "I'll fire him at once."

"Jefferson, you don't need to do that. A simple background check will suffice."

"Are you sure?"

Belle nodded. "I'm sure."

"We'll do it, though," Gold added.

"Of course, of course. Naturally, I'll give you everything you need. Do you need to run a background check on me, too? I've been looking for an excuse to try out my new lie detector. In fact, you can try it out on me right now if you want," he said, jumping up out of his chair, looking side to side. "Hmm…must be upstairs. I'll be right back. I think I packed it."

Before either of them could respond, Jefferson went bounding out of the room. "One second!" he yelled back, his voice echoing down the small set of stairs.

"Genius?"

"Hush."

"You're still sure about him?"

"I think so."

Gold gave a quick glance back towards the stairs. "We'll have to look into the security man. He's seen us."

Belle grimaced, remembering. "If Jefferson's system is as secure as he says it is, then I should be able look into him as much as we need. I don't think that he would have anything on us—"

"Other than our current location."

"Fuck," Belle murmured. "We need to get out of here."

"Agreed."

Gold stepped over to the monitors, which still displayed the unidentified fingerprints.

Belle joined him, standing beside him. "Who do you think these men were? Russians, again?"

He shook his head. "Not skilled enough. Or, they couldn't find any competent men to do the job on such short notice."

"Hopefully, there'll be something on that drive and those recordings."

He nodded in agreement.

A clatter of noise announced Jefferson's return.

Belle immediately ran over to assist him with the three large, stacked boxes that he was attempting to balance on each other.

"So, who is going to interrogate me first? You're going to love this. I made them in three colors too," he cheerfully announced, putting the boxes down on the floor.

"Mr. Harrison, does your Mr. March know why you were going down here?"

Jefferson froze, frowning at Gold's question. "No. I said that I needed to get away, so I left."

"You didn't tell him that you were meeting with us?"

"No, of course not."

"But, wouldn't he find it suspicious for you to leave so suddenly, especially taking all of that with you?" Belle asked, pointing upwards towards the boxes above.

Jefferson chuckled. "Bonnet, one of the perks of being, well, _me_, is that I found that no one takes my behavior too seriously, including Harry." He stopped laughing, his face drooping. "What? Why are you looking at me like that? Really, he won't think anything of it, I swear."

"Jefferson, we're going to have to leave."

"But you just said—"

"I know, but that was before…I'm sorry, but we just can't risk anyone knowing where we are. If your Mr. March is compromised in any way, we're not safe here."

"Is there any way to access that computer system, if we leave this place?" Gold asked, gesturing with his head towards the computer monitors.

"The servers?" Jefferson asked. "Of course. But we'd have to go to another one of my labs if we wanted to make sure that we couldn't be traced. I installed encrypted scramblers in all of my labs. Why?"

"Do you have any other labs, such as this one, besides the one at your home?"

"Of course."

"Close by?"

"And preferably, one that your Mr. March doesn't know you frequent."

"Umm…" Jefferson bit his lip, humming to himself. "I have an island in the Maldives. I haven't been there in nearly five years."

"Is there anyone there now?"

"No, it's too small to keep a full-time staff, so I usually bring my people with me."

"Good," Belle said. "Will we still be able to access your lab and computers there?"

Jefferson gave her a sly, knowing look. "Darling, just because I haven't been there, doesn't mean that I don't keep everything up-to-date. There is something to be said for buying in bulk. Almost everything I have here is there."

Belle had a sudden understanding of why his father may have been correct in not having Jefferson have complete control of his finances. The amount of money spent on the equipment in this room alone was mind-boggling.

"When can we leave?" Gold asked, motioning to the door.

Jefferson shrugged. "Well, now, I suppose."

"Good," he said, nodding to Belle.

She nodded back in agreement. Even though it was likely that they were overreacting, she still couldn't shake the feeling that they were sitting ducks here, and her already-frayed nerves were itching to leave immediately.

"Sooo…does this mean I'm going with you?"

"It's up to him," Belle said, motioning to Gold. "But if you come, Jefferson, you must know that this is not a joke, or a game. The second you leave with us, your life will be in danger."

Gold flashed her an exasperated look, as Jefferson spun around towards him, mouthing "please."

"If you slow us down, we'll leave you immediately."

"Understood."

Gold narrowed his eyes at the man. "If you make me regret this, I'll shoot you myself."

Jefferson promptly blanched, and then brightened again. "So, is that a yes?"

Exasperated, Gold sighed, pinching his brow.

"Yes, that means that you can come, Jefferson," Belle replied.

Her asset was gone, sprinting up the hall, before she could say another word, yelling, "you won't regret it," behind him.

Left alone, it took everything in Belle's power not to burst out laughing at Gold's face. He looked downright torn between throwing up his hands in surrender, and running after Jefferson to take him out. She walked over and wrapped her good arm around him, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips in thanks.

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

Belle chuckled, pressing her head to his shoulder. "Probably, but it's only until we get those files."

Gold groaned again, hearing Jefferson call out: "Should I pack the Uzi's?" from above.

"Just think about how I'm going to make this up to you."

"Believe me, m'dear, that's all I'm thinking about right now."

…

Their flight to Jefferson's private island in the Maldives was long and arduous, leaving Belle achy and stiff, due to her bracing against every little, jarring movement, which made her cuts to reopen again.

Due to their need for absolute secrecy, they had traveled alone, under false passports Jefferson had generated in his lab. They had also switched their chartered planes' flight plans mid-flight, much to their pilot's annoyance. However, after Belle had given him one of Haak's rubies as a "thank you gift," he promptly diverted them to alcove of islands in the Indian Ocean without delay.

Naturally, Jefferson loved every minute of their escape, chatting nonstop to both of them the entire time. Gold had surprised Belle with his tolerance for her high-strung asset by carefully, and thoroughly, answering each of his questions: Who was his most formidable enemy? What was his favorite weapon? Did he know that he bared an uncanny resemblance to a James Bond villain? If he _were_ a James Bond villain, which one would he be? Well, then, what James Bond did he like the most, instead? Are real MI6 agents called 007s? Did he have a number when he was in MI6? What was his code name? Why didn't he have a code name? Can he give him a code name?

He had become so tiresome, that Belle had finally given up trying to pay attention, and had instead taken to feigning sleep in the back of their bouncy SUV, while Gold drove them to Jefferson's estate on the other side of the small island.

Suddenly, a gentle hand shook her, and she immediately stirred, blinking awake.

"We're here," Gold whispered.

"What?" Belle yawned again and stretched, unthinking, and immediately regretted it; pain shot through her side, leaving her gasping in pain.

Gold was at her side in an instant. "What's wrong? Sweetheart?"

In her semi-conscious state, it took her a moment to realize that he'd asked her a question…and that she hadn't answered it yet. "Oh, um, just my side…"

"I'll see if he has anything stronger for the pain."

"No," Belle said, accepting Gold's hand out of the car. "I need to keep my head clear. It's not too bad."

He didn't look convinced, but didn't comment on it further. Instead, he led the way, escorting her towards the large estate.

A warm breeze blew through the elaborate, open-aired entryway, reminding Belle of a tropical hotel, rather than a home. Only a few lights illuminated the open space, which was otherwise bathed in the night's darkness. "Where's Jefferson?"

"Down here," Gold motioned. "I had him leave you be, while we got everything ready."

"You should have woken me up."

He gave her a fleeting, comforting smile. "You looked too peaceful to disturb."

"I doubt that," Belle countered, knowing for a fact that she had been drooling.

Thankfully, he didn't comment on it, and continued to lead her though home's wood-paneled hallways. With every turn, Belle couldn't help but think how much of a nightmare this was going to be to vet for security. The expansive, open-aired floor plan, which led directly to the ocean, made her Antigua villa look like Fort Knox.

"It's more secure than it looks, surprisingly," Gold said, as if reading her thoughts.

Belle glanced over at him, tearing her gaze away from the white, sandy beach, and the limitless ocean beyond.

"Your friend wasn't lying when he said that he emulated his other compound. This whole island has more security than some of the most elaborate security fortresses I've ever visited."

"What do you think about the open spaces, though?"

"The house, apparently, all closes up with hidden exterior panels. Believe me, he gave me the entire tour."

Belle reached down to squeeze his free hand. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For trusting me, for trusting him."

He shrugged it off. "As you said, I highly doubt that this one would be capable of any duplicity. He does certainly seem to be quite talented in other aspects, though."

Belle narrowed her eyes, suspicious of his sudden praise. "He gave you a knife, didn't he?"

"Actually, he gave me an entire box of knives."

_Knew it._ Belle chuckled at Gold's proud smirk, as he pushed a concealed button on the wall, causing a hidden panel to smoothly slide to the side, revealing a passage much like the one in Tanzania.

He motioned her ahead, through the passageway, closing it behind her, enveloping them in pitch darkness. "One moment."

Suddenly, a red light illuminated the passageway below. At the bottom, an eerie, blue-hued light appeared, and seemed to flicker and move. "He couldn't have possibly—"

"Oh, he most certainly did."

It didn't take her long to confirm her suspicions. Unlike Jefferson's other two labs, this one was smaller, and, as she had suspected, underwater. Large, acrylic windows, on each side of the concrete space, provided a window to the turquoise-lit ocean; an alluring, yet somewhat disconcerting, glimpse into underwater world. The sheer elaborate nature of the design was jaw dropping.

"Welcome to my lair," Jefferson announced. He had changed outfits while Belle was sleeping. No longer the safari-clad tourist, he was now wearing his more customary suited attire, which still looked out of place, considering the circumstances. "It's fabulous, isn't it? I can't believe that I don't come here more often. I forgot how much I like it."

"It's quite extraordinary, Jefferson."

Her asset beamed at her.

"I told Mr. Harrison about the devices you planted, as well as the SD card. He said that all you have to do is give him the information, and he should be able to access it, unless you prefer to do it yourself."

Belle raised her eyebrow at Gold in surprise. Apparently, he wasn't teasing earlier—Jefferson had somehow truly won him over, despite talking his ear off on the entire trip to the island. "How about I'll get it started—just to see if we have anything—and then, you can take it from there?"

"Sure, sure. Right over here, Bonnet. I have this computer set up, and already tracing the virus in the SD chip, and those stations over there will decrypt and download anything you get from the bugs. I wasn't sure what algorithm or tracking method you used, so you're going to have to help set that up."

"Okay, let's do it then." Belle sat down at the first station, and looked around. "Do you have some paper, and a pen?"

Jefferson froze, looking side to side, before darting off to the far reaches of the lab, returning with a stack of pads of paper, and pens. "How many do you need?"

"Just one's enough, thank you." She accepted the items out of his hand, and closed her eyes, trying to remember the sequence of numbers for each device. They came to her quickly, thanks to her odd, photographic memory for such things, and she opened her eyes, writing down the eight numbers before she forgot them. "I don't know which one is which, or if any of these are still working, but these are GPS trackers, and these are audio transmitters," she explained to both of the men, who were looking over her shoulder. "And before I forget…" She grabbed another piece of paper, and wrote down another number. "This is the location to a large file I acquired and uploaded. I'll need the contents to the file, as well as to see if anyone tried, or was successful, in finding it. I had a SD card with it on it, but it looks damaged."

"Well, all of these computers are here, and ready, for you to access whatever you need," Jefferson said, waving his hand at all of the computers with a flourish.

Belle turned around, her fingers hovering over the keys, at a loss of where to begin. She was a field agent, not a computer expert, and truthfully, she knew that Jefferson was probably better at this task. She swung around, and glanced over at Gold apologetically. "You see, I don't know really how to download this. Langley would always do it for us, and then give us the INTEL, afterwards."

"Do you know how to access those numbers?"

Jefferson mouth gaped in surprise at Gold's direct question, but quickly recovered, nodding in agreement.

"I'd prefer a verbal acknowledgement, Mr. Harrison."

"Oh, certainly. I can do anything you need. Where you would like me to start?"

Belle leaned over and pointed to the audio trackers. "These, first."

Jefferson popped his neck, flexed his fingers, and then downed the rest of his coffee in one, long gulp, before he settled his fingers on the keyboard, letting them fly across the keys.

Lines, upon lines, of code appeared on the screen. Belle had no idea what she was looking at—whether it was good or bad—but Jefferson seemed too consumed in his task to be bothered with any of her questions.

Suddenly, he stopped, smiling, and swung around with a smug look. "Found it."

"Found what, exactly?"

"Your proxy. It looks like there's quite a bit on this one too."

A surge of hope went through Belle. _Just give us one break._

"This is going to take me at least the rest of the night to find and download the rest of them. If you want, I can run the programs, while you get some rest. I'm not going to be able to sleep now anyways."

Belle glanced at Gold warily.

"We need to rest, if we're going to go through the data tomorrow. There's nothing we can do anyways, while it's downloading."

"If there's a problem, you—"

"Come get you immediately," Jefferson proudly finished for her.

Belle sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted, by the mere suggestion of rest. "All right. We'll leave you to it, then."

"Agent Hatter is on the case," he said, saluting them.

"Jesus Christ."

Belle chuckled, giving him a little wave goodbye. "Good night, Jefferson."

…

"It's done!"

Belle shot up out of bed, colliding with Gold, as they scrambled to disentangle their intertwined limbs and sit up, at the sound of Jefferson's booming voice. "What?" she croaked, covering her nude body with the sheet.

Jefferson's eyes bugged out of his head, darting between Belle and Gold, before jumped back, immediately turning his back to them. "Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's fine," Belle said, ignoring Gold's groan beside her. "What's done? The files?"

"Yes. And, I wouldn't have come and gotten you so early, but it seems like it recorded quite a bit of information, and I knew that you really wanted to read it, so my first thought was to go get you. Wait—no, actually, my first thought was to go get a refill of my coffee, but then, I ignored that idea, and decided to come and get you first, because—"

"Jefferson!"

Jefferson looked around in panic, before facing the door again. "Yes?"

Belle sighed, shaking her head. "We'll be down in five minutes."

"Perfect. I'll get everything set up for you," he said, running out of the room. Suddenly, the door opened again, and Jefferson popped his head back inside. "Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Muffin?"

"Harrison!" Gold growled.

"Okay, never mind," he squeaked, slamming the door shut.

"Did he just give you a thumbs up?" Belle asked tiredly, collapsing back into the pillows with a groan, looking over at the clock—5:17 a.m.—and then, back up at Gold, wanting to do nothing else except go back to sleep. It seemed as if they had only gone to bed a few hours before. "You have my permission to kill him, now."

"Let's get our recordings, first, love."

"Nope," she groaned. "Any wake up call before 6:00 a.m. deserves death."

"I thought that you were a morning person?"

"Not when you keep me up all night."

He chuckled. "I didn't hear you complaining last night."

"Well, last night was very nice," she agreed with a smile.

He leaned down, joining her amongst the pillows, and gently traced her cheek, removing a stray hair out of her face. "Are you feeling better?"

"Still sore, but it's better."

"If it's any consolation, your little asset thinks that he's a matchmaker now."

"What?"

"He told me yesterday that I should make a move because 'as a friend' he could tell that you liked me."

"Oh, he did?" Belle chuckled.

Gold smiled, leaning down to kiss her. "Mmm hmm."

"We told him that we'd be down in five minutes."

"We can be fast."

Belle sighed, torn, but gently pushed him off of her. "Let's see what he has first, and then we can have the rest of the day to ourselves."

"That sounds like a deal."

Belle swung her legs over the side of the bed, glancing over her shoulder at a bare-chested Gold, who was still lounging in bed. "Not everything is a deal, Gold." She waited a beat, coyly lifting her eyebrow. "Some things are a promise."

…

They made it down to Jefferson's lab in three minutes.

"Ah! You're here."

"Well, you did tell us to come," Gold murmured.

Belle snickered at Gold's sarcastic reply, which was thankfully unheard by Jefferson, and walked over to the espresso machine in the near corner of the underground space; the smell of fresh-brewed coffee proved too much of a temptation not to resist at this early morning hour. It seemed as if her entire body was still protesting being awoken so early.

"So what do you have for us?" Belle asked, walking back towards the monitor display.

"Everything, except it seems that two of your trackers fell off and are still on the boat. Or, at least, that's what I assume happened because there has been no movement. However, the other devices downloaded over twelve hours of active recorded audio each, and your USB drive actually is still recording—he hasn't taken it out of his computer yet."

"What did the USB drive record?"

"You got everything—traffic searches, email, basically his entire hard drive has been copied over. I have to say, it was very impressive coding, Bonnet."

Belle smiled. "Thank you, but it wasn't me," she said, flicking her eyes to Gold.

Gold quickly dismissed her praise with a cough. "How do we listen to the audio?"

"Oh, let me get it cued up for you." Jefferson swung around, sliding across the floor to retrieve two sets of plush headphones that were set on a workbench across the room, and then pushed himself back over to his original spot, flying across the room. "Bonnet, Bourne," he said, handing over the headsets.

"Bourne?" Belle said, lifting her eyebrow.

"Yes. It's perfect, don't you think?" he said, pointing to Gold. "Rogue CIA agent with the super-powers of skill and intellect. It's totally him. And then, I can call you both 'BB.'"

Belle burst into laughter at Gold's expression.

Jefferson froze, looking at his stony face as well. "Or…Gold works, too."

"That'd be for the best, Mr. Harrison."

Belle gave Gold an amused glance, which wasn't reciprocated. It only made her snicker more, as they watched Jefferson boot up the two workstations. Finally, he pushed back from the desk, finishing his task with an animated aplomb, twirling around in his chair before jumping up.

"It's all ready for you."

"Thank you, Jefferson."

"Which is which?"

"I'm not sure. I only downloaded it. I didn't listen to it. Did you _want_ me to listen to it? Because, I didn't. I thought that you would want me to—"

"No, no," Belle said, stopping him with a light pat on his arm. "That's fine. We'll figure it out."

Gold was already on his way to doing just that, sitting down, and putting on the headphones.

Jefferson flicked his gaze over to Gold, and bit his lip. "So, uh…I'll leave you both to it, then? I'm going to go lie down."

"Thank you, Jefferson."

Looking anything but tired, Jefferson bowed, and walked over to the wall, pressing a button to reveal a bunk, which emerged from the wall.

"Oh, you don't have to sleep here," Belle said. However, with headphones of his own on, Jefferson was oblivious to her protests. She shrugged to Gold, who waved off her concern. He seemed to be more interested in listening to the recordings than Jefferson's sleeping arrangements, so Belle let the issue drop.

Hours went by, making Belle begin to lose hope that she had been able to capture anything of value. She had taken over Jafar's recording, painstakingly translating it word-for-word into English, so Gold could go over it later. Most of his conversations centered on uninteresting, everyday topics—not that she was surprised. Intelligence gathering, such as this, was nearly ninety-five percent useless chatter. It was because of these odds that Belle had tried to aggravate Jafar so much on the boat, hoping that he would discuss her, or Malus, later. However, after listening to Jafar berate Iago yet _another_ time, Belle felt as if maybe all of her effort had been for naught.

Gold seemed to have the same assessment, staring vacantly out into space as he listened to Haak's recording. He hadn't moved, except for making slight notes every few minutes, the entire time.

Suddenly, his body jerking upright and he grabbed both of the headphones with his hands, trying to listen closer.

"What is it?"

He held up his finger, his eyes going dark, and deadly, as he continued to listen.

"Aiden…"

Breathing hard, he finally took off his headphones, putting them aside with shaking hands.

Belle leaned over to touch him. "Aiden, what is it? What did you hear?"

Without reply, Gold jerked the headphones out of the jack, allowing the audio to play throughout the room. He pressed a button, immediately scrambling the voices, until he pressed, "play," allowing it to play at a normal speed.

"What did the Saudis' say?" a woman's voice asked, her stately voice muffled by either a speakerphone, or an online video feed. It was enough distortion that Belle could tell she wasn't in the room.

"They're in," Haak replied. "_If_ you can guarantee your results."

"What did you tell them?"

"What you told me to tell them."

"Good. What about the rest of your investors?"

"Will be meeting next week as scheduled. I have a potential new one, you may be interested in."

"That's your concern, not mine."

"And my payment?"

"Will be delivered as agreed, Mr. Haak."

"But—"

"Next time, I will contact you, Mr. Haak. I will not tolerate you breaking protocol, again."

The recording went silent for a moment, before they heard a shuffling in the background, and fierce pounding of what sounded like a keyboard.

"Bitch," Haak murmured. Some more shuffling was heard, along with the slamming of cabinets. "Smee? Smee! Get in here!"

A slamming door, and a faint mumbling in the background seemed to announce, "Smee's," presence.

"Smee, where is my rum? Why is all the rum gone? Go get me—"

Gold pressed, "stop," letting the room fall into deafening silence.

"Aiden, was that her?" Belle asked, half suspecting the answer, just by his reaction alone.

He remained still, staring at the table.

Concerned, Belle moved her chair closer next to him, laying her hand on his, giving it a little squeeze. "It's her…isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, finally looking up at her; his gaze was both haunted and predatory all at the same time. "That's her. That's the Red Queen."

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**Update 4-17: I'm sorry for keeping all of you waiting so long for an update. Real life has gone from crazy to crazier for me, leaving me with little time to write :( I am about 15,000 words into the next chapter. I don't want to put an estimate on when I'll have it done, because I don't want to disappoint anyone, but know that I am slowly, but surely, getting it finished.  
**

* * *

**In the meantime, I wrote a fluffy piece about their morning after what happened at the end of chapter eight ;) You can read it here to get a little fix: denali1234 . tumblr post/43063593188/in-the-light-of-the-morning-a-bla ck-flagged-ficlet . Just close all the spaces.  
**


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